


Nehraa Qun

by VulpusTumultum



Series: Nehraa Qun [1]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Biting, Dragon Age: Inquisition Spoilers, Drugged Sex, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Gen, Implied/Referenced Torture, Isolation, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, Non-Consensual Drug Use, POV shifts, Partner Betrayal, Politics, Post-Game, Solitary Confinement, Torture, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-16
Updated: 2017-09-03
Packaged: 2018-03-23 06:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 31,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3757111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VulpusTumultum/pseuds/VulpusTumultum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Corypheus is dead, the Breach is sealed, but not every world power wants the south to stabilize- and the best way to keep things in chaos for their own purposes is to shatter the Inquisition's heart.</p><p>So with the stage set as needed, betrayal hits the Inquisition as an enemy power takes the Herald for their own uses and sows suspicion and discord in Thedas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hissrad

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AutopsyTurvy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutopsyTurvy/gifts).



> This is an AU ending for a poly relationship [fic I'm working on but have not yet even NEARLY completed/gotten to post-game](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3760378/chapters/8349484). In part because of a bunch of Tumblr Meta posts about Bull [led me to my own meta.](http://bakafox.tumblr.com/post/116547116371/so-hissrad)
> 
> And so I wound up writing this AU post-game end to that fic, and am sharing it before anything else because it's entirely possible some of my alpha readers would set me on fire if I didn't. Also because I just have been feeling like being mean to some of my favorite chars.
> 
> Sethras Adaar has noncanon magical abilities/skill stuff going on. which is more touched on in the Indelible marks thing, in terms of origins/training or lack thereof.

**_The Inquisition trades in secrets as easily as it does favors._ **

**_Its military might is feared, and its power is without question._ **

 

 

Adaar still preferred dealing with rifts to dealing with politics, and they still existed, even if Corypheus was gone and his last breach sealed. More limited now- no new ones forming anywhere by all accounts- but still, the old didn't go away, and there _had_ been new ones opening during that final battle, making him have to take to the road back into places they'd even already cleared, including the Hinterlands- though at least now, things were otherwise stable. No bandits, no mages or rogue Templars making their presences known to any great degree, watchtowers helping both Inquisition forces and the Arl of Redcliffe keep the area peaceful. 

It was a little more difficult, closing the rifts now- so many of his companions had gone their separate ways. Blackwall still hadn't actually gotten around to finding the Wardens somehow, Sera hadn't wandered away from the Inquisition either. Cole sometimes was around, but also seemed to be interested in helping Varric out, the dwarf having decided to start really helping rebuild the Free Marches- especially Kirkwall. Vivienne was getting more involved with mage and Chantry politics again- though all things considered, wasn't very popular with the mages that were declared free under Divine Victoria's ascension- but she was going to wind up on the council of the Enchanters College as a conservative voice, likely. And of course, with the Divine's blessing and some aid, Cassandra was rebuilding and reorganizing the Seekers and Templars into one entity, with her husband, Ser Barris. 

It meant slightly larger parties to close rifts- and strangers, or at any rate, not people so well known. Both the Enchanters and Templars tended to provide veterans if any were nearby, and there were those still with the Inquisition outright. 

This trip, Dorian had been held back from coming at the last moment by- well, a book arriving from friends of his in Tevinter. Since he was working with Dagna and the rather scrambled survivor of the Mages' Collective to try and figure out some way for people other than Adaar himself from having to close every rift, everywhere, and the book was a rare treatise on the Fade- it _had_ been more important than his help with a handful of small rifts, with minor demons. 

They'd stopped at the Inquisition camp northeast of the Crossroads for the night, there had been one of the new rifts just past it, in Lady Shayna's Valley- now closed. Everything else there had been quiet, no sudden appearances of dragonlings- apparently they'd cleared them out thoroughly with their mother the last time they'd been there. Bull had almost seemed a little disappointed. 

They hadn't gone all the way back into the valley as a party, they'd had recent enough messages from the smaller camp where Corypheus' lyrium smugglers had once set up a small dock to know everything was fine there. The Inquisition was currently in talks with the Arl of Redcliffe as to whether to tear the structure down, or repair it and keep it for use- Redcliffe's own docks were limited in space, and yet another set on the lake could be useful. It could also be a threat, for armed forces to use, or smugglers and raiders, if left in place but unguarded. 

Adaar felt a bit restless, being in someplace so familiar, but with so much different- also just at being in the Hinterlands again, and with how _quiet_ the day had been. Other than the actual traveling, and dealing with the rifts, there just wasn't much to do. It made his horns itch, and he had to admit that whenever he mused about how he preferred dealing with rifts to dealing with politics- he still was hoping that Dorian, Dagna, and Your would figure _some_ way for other mages or even Templars to be able to take care of them. 

The camp was falling into deeper shadow from the sun setting when he wandered over to where Bull was sitting on one of the stone pillars, almost at the actual entrance to the valley, the warrior had a couple of bottles by him, but barely was drinking from the one open in his hand. 

“Hey Boss,” he offered the bottle over, and Adaar shrugged and took it, smiling a bit. 

“So you _did_ vanish into the Gull while I was talking to the Arl's man in Redcliffe.” 

“Shit yeah, camping near here tonight and everything, seemed like it might be worth carrying a bit of extra weight.” 

Adaar chuckled, “' _Taarsidath-an halsaam?'_ I think you said at the bar afterward.” 

Bull grunted, took back the bottle for a drink and eyed him, “Good memory, _Kadan_ , but since you're here and bringing it all up-” he chuckled and with just a brief glance back to where the others were in the actual camp itself, rose up and grabbed one of Adaar's horns, tugging him in and up for a kiss, setting the bottle down to cup Adaar's ass with his other hand. “Could be a change in the plan.” 

Brought in close against Bull, it was pretty obvious what was being quickly brought up. Adaar swore into the kiss, then chuckled, and got his own hand down to palm at the crotch of Bull's pants. 

_Ah.. fuck it- valley's cleared, and not like anyone will wonder where the hell we went too much-_ at this point, even if it still was scandalous to some of the more politically or religiously minded- it was hardly even a remote secret who his lovers were any more, even if Dorian tended to still be more discreet out of habit and his own comfort. 

Bull let go of him, but just to grab the bottles by their necks, before snaking his arm around Adaar again and escorting him a bit further from the camp and into the valley itself. Still was enough light once past the narrow passage to find a good spot, even without the Inquisitor calling up any fire. 

They'd finished off the first bottle- nothing even strong enough to have an effect when split between Vashoth, and moved on, the second bottle maybe having more effect on Sethras- now naked and with arms bound behind him tightly with his belt and armor straps. Although far more likely to be causing the dizziness was the way Bull was using the liquor- sharing small amounts in rough kisses, or having Sethras lick and suck it off his muscular chest while he lay back and the mage straddled him, not riding the Bull entirely but their cocks rubbing together as he rocked his hips. 

He was hot and flushed enough that he wasn't entirely sure he could steadily fuck himself on Bull's huge cock, but at the same time, getting more willing and eager to try- but the warrior groaned and finally sat up further, nuzzling and biting at Sethras' throat, fingering along his ass. 

“Fuck, Adaar, wish we had all night for me to just enjoy you,” he smiled against skin as he murmured it, and then with a soft growl, he picked up the pace- not that the mage minded winding up face down on the grass and dirt. His head spun a little from it, and then he cried out and arched hungrily back, hips jerking, as his Vashoth lover took him, slicked with potion. “You're always too sexy-” Bull's mouth moved over flowers, and a newer tattoo, a dragon picked out in the same lines and shapes as all his other blackwork on what had been a framed scar from a knife wound- he kissed and bit at it, and cupped a hand over Adaar's mouth, more of the brandy the mage liked so much in and on it, so that he nuzzled it off as he groaned over the start of his deep fucking, shoulders arching, arms tugging against the leather bindings between them- kept from crying out too loudly when he was pleasured harder and harder, his eyes fluttering, he felt so hot and dizzy- 

There was no way he should be feeling so drunk- but any time the thought rolled around it was driven away- Bull came inside him, muffling his shout of pleasure in another bite, and Sethras followed almost immediately, Bull's name muffled by the hand over his mouth again. 

His heart was pounding, and he squirmed, gasping, finding himself almost blacking out- if it had been anyone else, he would have been more panicked than confused, but now, even with Bull, his mind was _trying_ to catch up with the fact something was very wrong- 

Bull pulled out from him, moving a hand to along Sethras' throat, feeling his pulse, before shifting his hand to not just cover his mouth, but block his breathing entirely, pinning the mage down as he finally really tried to struggle free, until the Herald finally went still, unconsciousness winning. 

“Adaar, you might be too tough for your own good sometimes,” Hissrad looked at the bite marks on his stinging hand, shook his head, clearing it of the last regrets the Iron Bull might have had, and found what was waiting, tucked out of the way and covered by debris- it hadn't occurred to Adaar that the Qunari had known exactly where he was bringing him. 

More of the drugs might risk an overdose, but at the same time, the Inquisitor's resistances had been higher than even he had expected, and he might not stay unconscious as long as he should, so Hissrad knelt down and snapped the heavy collar of lyrium and metal around the Inquisitor's neck, then bound the marked hand into a closed fist before getting pants back on and signaling the others waiting nearby.


	2. Nightmares

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar wakes up- when he's allowed to, and finds out what his situation is.

_Dreams erupting, memories of being bound and beaten, he couldn't even remember what he'd said or done, if anything, that they focused on him- or maybe they'd been doing it to everyone. Tight cords digging into his wrists and his neck, choking him. He'd held on and tried to not scream too much- not ready to die, never once really wanting to die, hearing a whispering voice in his head as he passed in and out of consciousness-_

_Adaar woke up with a jerk, neck burning, something heavy and cold digging down against his collarbones, marks and scars in pain almost like when he'd been in the Fade- and the dream still held him for several long moments as he realized he couldn't move, couldn't see. Trying to scream just made it feel like something was strangling him- and then a sickly sweet smelling cloth was shoved against his mouth and nose and he really was just back into dreams, unable to escape._

It happened again, and then again, and the nightmares got worse each time he was dragged back to them. In the waking world, there was a growled warning about keeping him drugged too long, and a brief argument about attachments or being away from the Qun too long.

 

-0-

 

Adaar woke yet again with a jerk that made chains rattle, his neck burning, his scars and tattoos almost screaming- he couldn't swear, barely could move. There was a massive metal collar around his neck- that was where the new lyrium was, and the hand with the anchor was wrapped tightly closed- not that he could see it, since his arms were still behind him, just held with metal rather than leather. For a few moments he did just thrash in confused panic, before going still and trying to _think_ instead.

 He was on a ship. That was the swaying and creaking. He was having a hard time remembering how- his head pounded, and he felt drained. He wasn't alone- across from him, watching him, were three Qunari, barely fitting across the wall.

Not Tal-Vashoth, one wore the collar and muzzle-like mask of a true Qunari Sarebaas- so the other two were _Arvaarad-_ he knew the family history, and enough about the Qun to realize that one of the Arvaarad was with the Saarebas- but if there were two- he tried to swear, to say anything, but _couldn't,_ and panic started to set in.

_How did- no. Fuck. Bull... you-_

Adaar couldn't actually feel any bites or bruises under the rest of the pain, from the lyrium, and from muscles reacting to time unused, bound and chained in various ways. And yet, he could imagine them too well, knowing there had been bites left along his back, on his shoulders and neck again- something Bull and he always had enjoyed- 

He went still, barely breathing, because he could remember now, in fact, couldn't stop the memories and realizations. The valley, the too-sweet brandy, _Bull._  

 

_He- Ben-Hassrath. The drinks were drugged. Bull drugged me and- how could he. How did he-_

 

If not for the Saarebas collar, he would have screamed Bull's name, but with it, again, all he could make was a choking sound, animal and grotesque. And it did feel like it literally choked him, squeezed the sound away, leaving him retching and gasping. He had always irritated some of his Companions with his half-jokes about the fate of human religious icons always involving betrayal, but of all the people he never actually expected it from- of all the people he trusted.

 

 _He was always Hissrad- all this time, every time?_  

The so-called Herald of Andraste shattered, in front of a silent audience that watched for signs of danger, but otherwise didn't interfere.

 

-0-

 

Time passed, but Adaar didn't get much sense of how much on the ship. He couldn't even feel his hand with the anchor at times, the fingers asleep. Sometimes they drugged him again, to change how he was chained, or just unchain him entirely, whether to study him or just to keep him from getting damaged or crippled he wasn't sure, since even when not completely unconscious, nothing was lucid. Even when he was awake and more coherent, Ben-Hassrath and Arvaarad looked over his marks, and perhaps discussed them briefly- but he didn't understand nearly enough Qunlat to get the full gist when they did. So far they didn't bother talking _to_ him beyond a few barked orders, no questions at all. 

That was likely to change, at some point, he assumed they otherwise might have just cut his tongue out fully by now, rather than simply keep his voice bound by the collar. 

The nightmares were getting worse, dredging up every fear and cracking open memories he didn't want, so bad sometimes that death seemed appealing. But when food or drink was brought, he ate what was offered anyway after the first time or two- they didn't force him, they didn't care if he was weak, so there was that little bit of him wasn't going to make it any easier for them than was inevitable. 

When not numb, or feeling swallowed by nightmare, he began to get angry. Mostly at himself, for being so stupid about the involvement of Qunari, about a Ben-Hassrath, for being weak, broken. Not finding a way out- other than wondering what might happen, if he could use the anchor even in Saarebas shackles, even with hand forced closed, while still locked up and out at sea. How much power had the thing built up since last being used for more than closing rifts? 

And why had they done this? It made little sense- unless they felt the Inquisition was powerful, things were _too_ close to being stable with the world no longer in danger. Having something to think about slowly kept him from the nightmares, though not always the numbness, and spread the anger around. That he was so quiet and cooperative seemed to cause some quiet argument, and made 'his' Arvaarad, whichever was on duty, occasionally move in to check him over more closely than watching from across the small space, looking over his marked hand and scars. They weren't feeding him enough, either. They definitely wanted him weakened. 

From the Qunlat he did understand- soon they would be on land again, and sometimes there was mention of Hissrad- the information he'd given on how to handle Adaar. They didn't seem to care overly much that he might overhear certain things, but other times they did keep things too low for him to make out. No one spoke to him directly unless ordering him to move in some way- and he tended to let them- or make them- just grab and move him themselves. Even he wasn't entirely sure sometimes if he was being defiant, stubborn, or just didn't care. 

Mentions of Hissrad made it more tempting to try using the anchor, every time. Was he on this same ship, giving reports, or were the reports from earlier? Questions, trying to listen, anything was better than sleeping and dreaming, or letting himself wonder what was happening back home, how much the Inquisition knew, their allies knew. 

How much Dorian knew about what had happened. 

Perhaps it was just as well they had his voice taken away, however they did it. If he'd been able to talk, he'd be wanting to. Desperate to hear himself, to ask all the questions circling his mind, and they likely would give more away about him and the Inquisition than get answers from them- if Hissrad hadn't already given them enough. 

At least Dorian hadn't been there, for Hissrad to give them _him_ too- the thought was enough to make him begin to heave and retch, as Bull's slight irritation that the mage hadn't joined them for the Hinterlands suddenly made too much sense. _There is no way they don't know what they could do to me with him. Let him be safe at Skyhold- let Cullen and the others not ever let him out of their sight-_


	3. No News is Bad News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Inqusitor's war council- and Dorian- deal with having too little news.

It had taken time for the accumulating missives and reports to sink in with Dorian- Adaar had, after all, made it through- well, _everything_. Things he should never have been able to. The Fade- _repeatedly_ \- the Haven avalanche, multiple giants, high dragons, assassination attempts, all also repeatedly (other than Haven).

His own magic, and whatever he had gone through long before he was Herald. Envy demons. _Corypheus_. Adaar survived, and more than that, he _won_. Especially if he had the protective mountain known as Iron Bull backing him.

If you simply waited around, maybe swore you would kill him as a sort of psychic encouragement, he just... showed up again, maybe with nightmares at first, or just with a rather sheepish look and an apology for making you worry.

But by the third meeting with Charter, Cullen and Josephine in the war room- he was starting to feel more on edge. The way they kept _looking_ at him didn't help. _Nor does the fact I hate this room. At least there are finally chairs in here so we can sit when not actively having to stare at the map._

“Please stop looking at me as if I am going to burst into flame and get on with what I hope will be more details this time?” he did glare down at the Hinterlands, noting the marks and pins.

Charter also was scowling at the papers in her hands, and at the map, “It looks like it was a deliberate ambush, but _how_ anyone would know they would be in the valley that night, away from the sentries-”

Dorian ran fingers through his hair, snorting, “ _Kaffes_ , a _high dragon was killed there_ of course they did if they were stopping anywhere near for the night. It's Bull's idea of romance, their eyes meeting across a crowded dragon, or a charred area where everyone nearly died.”

“Uh,” Charter glanced to Cullen and Josephine, being less familiar with the two missing Vashoths' habits and rather thrown by Dorian's sour remark, but they both clearly knew what the mage had meant, judging by their expressions.

She carried on, “There were no bodies found, but signs of magic use- both where the Inquisitor and Bull were likely taken and at the dock- I should say, no enemy bodies found, although certainly a lot of blood at the ambush site. We did find the remains of all of our people that had been keeping an eye on it. Killed by magic, daggers, or bow. Any arrows had been cut out of those shot- except for one scout that was pulled from the water. It has been tentatively identified as a Tevinter arrowhead. Our scouts seemed to have been taken completely by surprise, barely any chance to defend themselves.”

“We've gotten absolutely no reports of suspicious sightings on the lake, or any of the roads around it- and Redcliffe immediately provided boats to go searching with- but however it is timed, the attackers had a large head start. They may not have even stayed on the lake long. The Chargers are already on their way to help with the search around the lake, we've sent messages to agents likely to be able to check the shores anywhere, and if possible get their hands on boats to try searching more to the north of it- in case the abductors are trying to get as close to the sea as they can by boat. It's certainly the fastest way to move two Vashoth prisoners quietly. So far we've kept that the Inquisitor is missing quiet, but the more we have to extend the search, the harder that will be.”

“The Chargers already left?” _Blight take it, I should have gone with them- sitting here is doing nothing-_

“Hours ago, and you are staying in Skyhold at least until we have some idea as to who we are dealing with and _why,”_ Cullen folded his arms, looking as tense as the mage had seen him since the worst of the lyrium withdrawal had ended.

“You must be joking- Dalish is a good mage for an archer, but-”

“The Knight-Commander is right, Dorian, there are other mages in the area that can and will help, but whoever is behind this, they took the Iron Bull rather than kill him for a reason- and you are a likely target as well.” Charter wasn't nearly as terrifying as Leliana had been as spymaster, but she looked as determinedly stubborn as Cullen. “We have to know specifics of who we are guarding you against.”

“And we need to try and review everyone here at Skyhold as it is- you mentioned a.. thing for dragons, but how many know about that- it isn't something that is brought up in general gossip. It certainly isn't something that has come up that I have heard before- so who would have been able to tell our enemies about that likelihood?”

“ _Kaffes-_ those of us who traveled at all with them, possibly those who have been stationed at camps where there have been dragons nearby.”

“It is a start, then. Divine Victoria and Cassandra have sent us messages back- we have the Chantry's full and quiet aid in this, also the Seekers and Templars- Cassandra is sending her people to help with the search, and intends to go to the Hinterlands herself, Ser Barris will be coming to Skyhold first as official liason. We have sent word also to Lady Vivienne- and to Varric in Kirkwall, in case his contacts are needed- or Cole's talents.”

“I do _not_ enjoy the idea of sitting here just listening to reports and twiddling my thumbs-”

“Keeping you safe in case the abductors decide they would like another hostage to use against the Inquisitor is priority,” Charter said it flatly, “Unless you can say for absolute certain you have some way of tracking where they may have been-”

Dorian let out a breath, “Not at any great distance, no.” _And it has been too long already for spirits at the location to be any help- too many days have passed since the excitement that would have brought them close to the veil._

“Then for now, Dorian, please stay here, “ Josephine put a hand on his shoulder, “We are currently in a state where all we can do is search, and wait to see if any group takes responsibility or makes demands.”

“Just do not for one moment think that if there becomes a real plan, that you can leave me out of it.”

“You will _always_ be part of our meetings, and any plans made,” Cullen agreed, “And-”

“Fine, then. Is there more actual news for this one, then?” _He was about to say something sympathetic. I do not need or want that. They are fine- Adaar is alive, he will be found, as will Bull._ He pulled back from Josephine as Charter admitted there wasn't anything more, and left, pausing for a moment in the hallway, but then going to the library, rather than follow the urge to go up to Adaar's quarters.

Unfortunately now he did find himself considering what someone might be able to get Adaar to do- or how much they could harm him with Bull as a hostage, and even trying to find proper research books was difficult, much less reading them.


	4. Manipulative Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar is allowed to talk- to the Ben-Hassrath that knows him far too well.

Hissrad had wondered when they'd call him down to see to Adaar- he had warned them about drugging the Inquisitor too much, but the others were still a little unsure of his advice, worried that he might not be truly detached from the role he'd played for so long, and too attached to the prisoner.

It wouldn't be too much longer on this ship to get to Par Vollen and the Viddathlok,and his fellow field agents would have rather have gotten there without reuniting him with the Inquisitor- however, he was the one who could best assess how badly Adaar had deteriorated. He wasn't supposed to be mindless on his own before even being questioned and getting his final fate decided at the temple. Or dead.

As it was, it clearly took Adaar several moments to either recognize Hissrad, or to decide whether he was really there or not, when he entered the holding cabin. “Should've sent someone who's been Basarvaarad, not just Arvaarad. Gatt, he getting any painkillers at all, or just knocking him out now and then? _”_

“Some. Hard to dose him- and looks like he even wants pain, unless you think he was going for a vein with bad aim.”

Adaar twitched in his chains, and the wrapped anchor hand flared with green, and then blue as the lyrium in the bindings locked it down. It made for a flickering of similar light along all of the Basaarebas' magical brands and tattoos- and doubled him over in a silent scream. He _was_ a mess, sweaty and pale, constantly shuddering or shivering- they were keeping him and the cell cleaned up a couple of times a day, but he still reeked, and was noticeably losing weight. He also now did have the Saarebas mask on, blocking his mouth off- and the reason was evident on his arms- they'd been chained in front of him rather than behind for a while, and he'd begun to bite at his own arms.

Which at least meant they'd brought him down and might pay more attention. Hissrad gave the Inquisitor's current Arvaarad watcher an appraising look. “Let him talk. He's used to talking- it'll help if he can at least yell at everyone a bit.”

The Qunari glanced towards Gattt, as if to be sure both of the Ben-Hassrath in the room were in agreement, and the elf nodded curtly. With that, the Arvaarad rose and moved to unlock the mask, and remove both physical and magical gags from the Tal-Vashoth.

Who immediately did try to swear at the Qunari in the room with him, especially Hissrad, but wound up still mostly just coughing, his voice cracked and rusty. The spy crouched by him, and offered him a waterskin.

“Not drugged, just water. Help you use those words better-”

“..because you're someone- I can _believe_ about what's drugged or not-” from the look in Adaar's eyes, he was considering actually trying to attack physically- also maybe seeing a little more than just one of Hissrad, or at least a very blurry one. He was unfocused.

“Yeah this time you can, because you're already in chains, and there's not going to be any more drugging until higher ups say so- impressed with how much your body's burning it up, but you're too close to overdose.”

“ _Liar_.”

“When it's the job. Drink a little, Adaar, unless you really want me to force you to,” he said it casually, just letting it be a statement of fact that he _would_ force the issue. Adaar growled, sounding almost like he still was magically gagged, but did drink, his usable hand shaking.

_Well he still knows not to guzzle it. He wasn't going for his own veins yet, not deliberately, but he might be getting there._

“ _Why?”_

“Orders, the job, the Qun- but you know that. You have a job, you see it through. If you mean why you're a prisoner, you'll have to ask when you're in Par Vollen.”

Adaar's wavering stare was being directed at his throat, where there had for a time been a dragon tooth necklace. Of course, it wasn't there now- and Adaar's own, well, Hissrad had taken that off when he'd put the mage collar on him.

“Why fuck me that last time, not just have me drink?” his voice was still cracked and broken, but the water had helped a little. He sounded dead and numb, and Hissrad wondered if he would even really remember the conversation after the next time he fell asleep.

“You're picky as shit about drinks if you aren't distracted. You'd have tasted it, maybe recognized it.” F _uck, Gattt and his keeper won't like it, but either it'll give him hope, or piss him off enough to make him start plotting and stop ripping himself apart- “_ Works better if you're active, too- and yeah, Adaar, maybe the Iron Bull wanted you one last time. Never lied about you being fucking sexy. But that's over now, nothing personal.”

He easily caught Adaar as the chained mage lunged for him- he'd been deliberately in reach, to see if he might- and rose, slamming the Inquisitor back down, hard enough to knock the breath from him. He waved the Arvaarad off, “No, not yet,” and he shoved Adaar back down again as he tried to get up.

“You gonna bite me, or what? Try ripping my throat out? Not bad, but not gonna work, and you know it- but you can keep trying if it makes you feel better. It's not usually your thing, I know, but if you want the shit beaten out of you so it's a new kind of pain, it can happen. No more biting yourself up- and no mask and gag needed.”

“ _Vashedan-_ Get.. away from me.”

“Sure- but Adaar, I know you aren't weak. You're surviving til they talk to you in Par Vollen. I will tell you- the Inquisition doesn't know about me yet, and I probably can still get back before they do if you fuck up. Let 'em find me bloody and unconscious- Cole's in Kirkwall, and I can act enough like Bull again if I need to, at least to get close enough to-”

He had to slam Adaar back again, but this time the mage had tried magic too, so he stayed down, wracked with pain- but he looked ready to explode, and was trying to curse and threaten Hissrad. _Good._

“They should've let me stay behind to get to him, but Gattt and the others decided to not let me improvise,” he looked to the glowering Arvaarad, “Don't punish him for trying to attack me, just shut him up when he's done swearing- don't muzzle him, he needs to drink more- and if he starts any signs of hurting himself, send for _me_.”

Gattt didn't look happy, of course- but he at least didn't speak up until they were in the hall and far enough from the cabin, “Hissrad, what the-”

“Gatt, you're good at what you do, I'm good at what I do- let him be angry as fuck at me. He's contained, and it'll at least focus the crazy- you'd be amazed the shit he can put up with and ignore if he wants to kill someone or something enough. Let him want to kill me- it won't be enough when it matters, but it'll get him there in better shape than other options still open. And now, since in his head you stopped me from getting someone else he cares about, he might even be less trouble for you without even knowing he's behaving better. Might not, but it was worth a shot. Now, how about some drinks?”

_Too bad the door did get shut on the best way to handle him- but no, wouldn't be worth it this late in the trip. Few more days and we're both getting our heads sorted out._

 

-0-

 

_I am going to kill him if it is the last thing I do- he is never even seeing Dorian again at a distance._

It was likely a pointless thought- he couldn't get free, and neither could his magic, but it meant trying to think of a future rather than letting the past or present swallow him whole.


	5. Suspiciously Obvious Falsehoods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been well over a week since Adaar and Bull went missing, with still far too few answers to show for their searching- or rather, too many possible answers to make finding the right one easy, especially if the rest of Thedas decides to get impatient while the council tries to find definite truth.

Nobody in the war room looked like they had been getting much sleep- and that likely included Dorian, since he had hardly slept for the last several days. Ser Barris had arrived, and there was a representative of the Divine as well, a quiet looking woman in the robes of a Chantry lay-sister from somewhere in the Free Marches- who apparently had lost relatives in the Conclave explosion and further campaigns against Corypheus. Astera Trev-something- Dorian hadn't really paid much attention to her, or her name, distracted until finally things were really under way.

Charter took the lead again with her reports, “There was an incident on the western shore of Lake Calenhad, on the road through Gherlen's pass- a merchant caravan stumbled across a group of what looked like Tevinter merchants they said- something was wrong with their wagon. They were told to be on their way, and were attacked when apparently they didn't move fast enough. Only a handful of them got away- they thought perhaps it was slavers.” 

Dorian scowled- without thinking, he was running fingers over the detailed, geometric carvings of his staff- until he realized he was, and then he stopped, jerking his mind away from how it felt almost like carved horn, and to the news such as it was. _Remaining Venatori? We killed all of their leaders except Calpernia, she may have decided to turn on Adaar but why take him alive if so? If that even had any connection- it may have just been slavers-_ Which were all questions that were brought up out loud by others- and of course they couldn't just assume completely that it was connected to the abduction. And still, no groups had claimed responsibility, or made demands.

The fact Adaar was gone had still been kept mostly under wraps, though within the Inquisition's troops- they had had to make the announcement, as people knew something was wrong even if not directly involved in the search- which meant it would wind up far more public soon _._ Josephine had been discreetly notifying more and more kings, queens, and other leaders that they had reason to not want upset with them for finding out via rumor.

“We also have received word from Varric in Kirkwall, but it's not actually a reply to us- it was sent shortly after Inquisitor Adaar and Bull vanished- within a day of that, he sent a short message saying that they were on their way here- no reason given, and for the moment we have no idea where they are.”

That news made Josephine and Cullen seem almost hopeful, and even Dorian had what might have been an echo of their thoughts- _Did Cole hear something somehow? Maybe something actually useful?_

  


The next day, everyone heard things- not from Cole or Varric though. Messages started arriving of sudden rumors throughout Ferelden and Orlais, that the Herald of Andraste, Inquisitor Adaar was dead, or abducted- that it had been conservatives in the Chantry, that it was nobles angry that he had helped Briala regain a 'hold' over the Empress and de-fanged the Orlais military, that it was the work of the Qunari, the Nevarrans- that he'd been betrayed by someone within the Inquisition's council- with Cullen being the surprisingly favored target of those.

It was absurd, really, how suddenly someone was talking about it, multiple someones, with multiple stories, in major cities, all at once. Anyone sitting in the middle of some manner of spy network could _tell_ they were being seeded deliberately- even a _terrible_ spy network would know this was some sort of move in the Game. Those with better spies- including the Inquisition- slowly got a little more detail as to the origins of the rumors through the next days. Of _course_ people remembered Tevinters stopping in taverns or mentioning things in markets, when fully dressed in the uniforms or styles of the Imperium.

“It's absurd,” Dorian growled at another get-together sharing information. “Even _I_ am capable of understanding the idea of agents who actually blend in. The Venatori were maybe stupid enough, but I do not see why Calpernia would do this- or some other surviving leader. Certainly, someone might have- reason to have wanted Adaar- but why advertise in this way if it was anyone even remotely connected with the Imperium? They hardly want every southern nation and the Inquisition taking action, which is what this risks, considering the feelings for the Herald-Inquisitor in general, it could easily spread even to the Free Marches and other northern nations-.Most idiots back home want to expand, have glory days again, which generally requires attacking someone with no real alliance rather than inviting armies into our own borders.”

“I do not think any of us disagree here, Dorian, but among those who do not have the entire picture- the idea of _fake_ Tevinter agents seems absurd. And most of those the rumors point at are quick to seize on the most obvious reason there as to why it can _not_ be them,” Josephine sounded frustrated as well as worn- some of it possibly at Dorian himself. He was, when not in the meetings, avoiding everyone- A _nd being an ass when they do find me and wish to sympathize. I am aware the regard even Charter and Barris held for Adaar, and that to Josephine and Cullen he was-_ is- _a friend. And they are my friends as well- perhaps not even just because of him. But-_

_Maker, the meetings are bad enough, hungover or not, for making it obvious how we have nothing useful for finding a way to get them back. Or anything else. And if anyone thinks they need to try and prepare me for the worst case scenario already-_

“...after all, a general war- if Tevinter was destroyed, it would free the slaves. For that matter it could give them a chance to rise up themselves,” Charter had been talking- and he'd not even heard a word of it, though tired as he was, he could guess from that.

“That- perhaps is something to try checking on with some people I know. But even Calpernia before- did not wish the Imperium conquered from outside. It is possible she has changed her mind..” _Adaar you may have given the wrong person another chance-_

“How many contacts of yours might be able to deal with other Inquisition representatives?Able to, and willing to?”

“Oh for the- not nearly enough of them. Do not tie my hands further. Whether messengers are caught with missives from me or the Inquisition itself, it would be trouble- so concentrate on seeing that they are _not_ interfered with. I am quite sure I will soon be the larger target of suspicion than Cullen if the masses decide it is a Tevinter plot- fine, better me than him. I'm already kept here, if need be just tell everyone I am being locked in a bloody tower and watched constantly. I am sure you will be getting letters of official denial and more official diplomatic channels as it is, so I will stick to dealing with the quiet troublemakers who would rather there be change without everyone being up to their knees in blood.”

“My apologies, Dorian- and yes, it is likely. And we _are_ looking into every other group as best we can- pointing a finger at yourself that everyone will feel is obviously fake could be as much the answer as any other. The longer time passes with no ransom demands, no- anything- the harder it is to see a purpose to this beyond trying to cause chaos and perhaps force the Inquisition to fall apart. Our being unable to properly back the Empress Celene may make the resentful nobles in Orlais bold whether or not they had anything to do with this, same for those against Divine Victoria within the Chantry, if she puts too many of her resources into aiding us rather than dealing with internal matters-”

“And the Qunari also may take advantage of this, whether or not they were behind it, should the Imperium be distracted- as well as Nevarra- Maker this is a mess,” Cullen sighed.

 _The look on his face. Just like Haven- he thinks we've already lost- not that we can't discover who is behind this and avert some ridiculous war or start our own in revenge, but everyone is thinking that the Herald has finally been lost. I will_ not _put up with that._

Better to write messages, try and find anything other than blood magic or worse that might help find and retrieve the lost- and drink until he could sleep. And hope that maybe, just possibly, Varric and Cole might arrive safely with news that was at least useful if not pleasant.


	6. Warhawks or Warhorns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outside of Skyhold things are escalating at an ever more rapid pace.

Attacks against Tevinter merchants and travelers- actual, legitimate, Tevinter merchants and travelers, began first. 'Angry mobs' sometimes, other times less of a group activity. Even diplomats fell to knives in the dark- like with the rumor seeding, it happened suddenly, as if on a signal, and even though Charter or the Divine may have wondered if it was going to happen- they didn't have time to counter it.

Diplomatic channels with the Imperium were freezing up fast, as citizens of the empire headed back home and out of the south- and much of the Free Marches as fast as they could now.

Nobles, and commoners, even some within the Chantry were fast pushing for 'action'- not to keep digging for what had happened, but for some manner of alliance to try dealing with Tevinter- nobles wanting to expand their nations in Orlais and Nevarra, with those in the Chantry and even some religious elsewhere saw it as a reason to move against Tevinter heresy. Even some on the side of the Empress and the Divine pushed for war, if only because they felt it better for anyone to be against Tevinter than Celene or Victoria.

Much as the soldiers of the Inquisition itself still trusted and admired the Knight-Commander and their officers, they were wanting more action as well. And of course, old suspicions about Dorian kept popping back up, like weeds or rocks in a farm field among those who didn't know him personally.

The one thing that became plain was that whoever was behind the situation had been planning it for a long time- the timing and scale was just too perfect, time and again. And while they had yet to take enemy agents alive- those killed (or who killed themselves) sometimes showed signs of being former slaves, or had the features of someone from the Imperium.

On the possible bright side, that everything seemed to want to point to Tevinter was narrowing down who might have taken the time to plan this- while no one _liked_ the Imperium, it would have to be a very near and dear nation to have bothered finding so many refugees or escapees to serve, and only one _true_ enemy of Tevinter was so good at creating fanatics who would die rather than be captured.

But for all the suspicions of Charter, Briala, and all those working for the Divine, and the Inquisition's inner council, there just was no _proof_ the Qunari were involved. And if you showed a bunch of very angry, agitated, or power hungry southerners and Free Marchers two disliked, even hated targets- and one meant sailing armies past dreadnaughts, while the other meant a march across land-

Dorian's homeland was certainly the choice it seemed most would make, _right_ or not. To the point of bending over backwards to find anything as proof they were right.

 

By now he was certain there was no way that Varric and Cole would bring anything helpful, much less _good_ for news- but at least for a few moments, seeing them entering Skyhold with Cassandra made the world seem at least recognizable, even if their expressions immediately erased any pleasant feeling, immediate reminders of the situation.

_'Situation,' a word that does not even begin to describe the affair. Which is just as bad a word. But I am too tired to even try and find proper vocabulary for this. At least Corypheus was one mad creature trying to destroy everything, much easier to deal with than more common humans with more common emotions gathered in large groups._

_And speaking of angry groups- those are the Chargers, and they don't just look angry, they look like they are ready to either revolt or fall apart- they are missing some of their number- Kaffes, did I miss out on some messages and meetings or is this going to be a surprise to even the others?_

He tried to not think that the Chargers looked as if they'd found out Bull was dead. Although what else could have them- especially Krem- looking so shaken- _I suppose I will find out shortly._

Dorian closed his eyes a moment to try and center himself before grimly heading for the meeting room.


	7. Alone

It didn't matter if his eyes were opened or closed, and he wasn't even sure which was the case. They had reached Par Vollen- and the _Viddathlok_ \- he'd been dragged before Tamassrans and Ben-Hassrath and questioned for hours. Of course he'd answered more than he'd wanted to- not that talking was easy when not gagged by the collar's power, not when exhausted, starving, and almost but not quite hearing voices from the combination. They had drugged him again, and whatever they'd forced on him had made him far too awake and unable to keep his mouth shut, though he'd managed sometimes- for a bit, he thought, to go off on tangents. Not that he could remember much of the questions, only that they were mostly- either about his vitaar-based tattoos and brands, or about the anchor, about how he closed rifts, and how much he _knew_ about it.

Then, when whatever it was had worn off, and he'd suddenly been falling over, shaking violently in his chains, they'd had him dragged off to a box. He'd fallen asleep before even getting to it, only to wake in complete darkness, able to feel that he was surrounded on all sides by cold metal, since it was too small a space for him to even lay out full length in in any direction.

He really wasn't sure if he was awake or not. He hurt too much to be asleep, but the way his mind kept wandering was as bad as really dreaming, or at least almost as bad. Surely though the voices were just- from himself, his own troubled mind, because the mage bindings had to be able to keep demons away if they could lock up his powers, even the anchor.

It really didn't help when one of those whispers reminded him of the amulet they had gotten for the spirit Cole. Who had come into being after watching a young mage get thrown into a dark room and forgotten-

_At least I'm not likely to be eaten by rats like he was. How is air even getting in?_

Another _truly_ unhelpful thought, one that suddenly made it hard to breathe.

 _No- no no.. I_ am _the Herald, the Inquisitor. Whatever they want from me, it means they have to drag me back out into light and air at some point. And_ before _I am dead._

But he couldn't really keep thinking clearly in the dark, that crushed down around him. He could hear the nightmare demon, and far far too much else from his past. And the worst of it was- the good memories- c _hess at Skyhold. Sera and Dorian insulting each other on the road for points- Dorian, ah fuck-_ those memories felt more like they were bleeding him raw than the remembered demons and flickers of torture, the smell of burnt skin and hair.

 _Dorian's hair under my fingers, the smell of that damned imported soap that made me sneeze if the he had just cleaned up or shaved- the word '_ Amatus' _sounding like anything from a shamelessly dirty promise to like it meant '_ bloody fool' _depending on his mood and tone of voice- waking me up because he wanted to argue about something in a damn book- kissing me to apologize. Fuck. No-_

 

Remembering Dorian also inevitably meant-

 

“ _I'm here for you, Kadan- what you need. I will never hurt you without permission*.”_

 

At least the terrifying darkness meant that _this time_   there wasn't a line of Qunari watching him as he broke down completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Inappropriate Fox feels obligated to point out Bull!Hissrad never specified _whose_ permission.


	8. Isolation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [My hand slipped.](http://vulpustumultum.tumblr.com/post/116612463807/bakafox-so-i-took-a-break-from-writing-my)   
> 

He might have only been in that box for a single day- or it might have been longer- but by the time it was opened, Adaar didn't even care that Hissrad was there as one of those pulling him out. He kept greying out as they used buckets of cold water to slosh the worst filth off him. Bull- _Hissrad-_ had him half dragged between two of the guards- or whatever they were- and it really was about all he could do to just keep awake and stare at the tiled floor as it passed beneath them. The building was massive, the hallways seeming to not end, until finally he was dropped off onto the floor of a smallish room- not a prison cell, for a change. More like a guard barracks, but with only two beds.

Hissrad helped him up, “All right, Adaar- we're cleaning you up, then food- for now, I'm taking care of you again. And Adaar, you know I'm better than the alternatives open to you right now.”

He wanted to growl, and hated that he didn't _dare_ , if one of the 'alternatives' was back in a box- he couldn't handle that right now. It was an effort just to stay upright or even conscious as the Qunari actually unchained his wrists- not taking the manacles off, but getting the bits holding links to release them with the same glowing rod that could give Adaar his voice back- though apparently that wasn't happening. His ankles were also unchained, and he was helped to a corner basin with running water- though he managed to pull himself together a bit more so he could clean up himself- not willing to have to put up with Hissrad's hands on him for something like that.

He had to catch himself though, leaning on the basin edge to not just fall over- and put up with help after all, trying very hard to just concentrate on staying awake, staying up, and not pay any attention to his back being washed..

“ _Just_ getting you clean, Adaar. You stink.”

He did growl a bit at that, but didn't fight it as the Ben-Hassrath made sure he was actually really clean, then helped him into a Saarebas' kilt-like robe, and to the table. Despite the almost new panic at more reminders that he was now a mage held prisoner by the Qun- having actual clothes of any kind felt better. His hands shook, but he at least could eat on his own, so long as he kept it slow- bread, a bowl of soup- the collar alone, even without shaking hands or a tight-feeling throat made eating difficult.

“You're being given a chance, Adaar- since it's likely you need your mind to use that anchor and close rifts- they're overlooking a few things so long as you _do_ close the rifts, and behave. Job you're familiar with- hell of a lot of rifts here, in fields, right outside of a few villages. “

He managed a tired, disgusted sound, mouthing, ' _And once they're closed? Then what?'_

“Depends on how you handle your job. Expecting a lie like 'you'll be let go? Not how it works. You _really_ aren't Inquisitor anymore, Adaar, or Herald. Outside of the room, when it's not just us, you're not even Adaar. Maybe Basalit-an to a few who know, but to most, just Bas Saarebas.”

 _'And you're Arvaarad instead of Hissrad? Hissrad suits you better,'_ Adaar twitched with the desire to lash out with more than what he mouthed, but there was no way he'd be able to do anything worth it yet.

“Yeah it does,” the Qunari of course didn't take it as an insult, “But their usual training wouldn't work so hot for taking care of you and I've already been your Arvaarad before, Adaar. Bull was for quite a while.”

That almost could have been a physical strike, and he was in no shape to deal with it- remembering even that night after the Templars, Bull the concerned bodyguard, checking on him, wanting to talk about whether or not he could handle his job- after Adamant, the Qunari knowing and offering whatever would help calm him down-

Pain, anger, and panic hit, he almost threw everything up again. For several burning moments even after he was done heaving, he hated the Qun, Hissrad, and himself. _Especially_ himself, when he had recovered in part because the liar just rose and calmly helped keep him upright, gave contact _familiar_ contact. His head swam, and he vaguely wondered if _anything_ wasn't drugged-

“Just breathe, Adaar. You can't afford to keep throwing shit up. And don't glare at the food like that. Nothing in it. You're expected to walk and ride on your own when we're sent out. So unless you fuck up, that means painkillers and nothing else- and you get those when you _ask_.”

 _Vashedan. I just bet I do-_ but he couldn't argue or fight it when Hissrad pulled him up out of the seat and got him to one of the beds- exhaustion warring with the fresh rush of panic and twisting feelings- but all the Qunari did was leave him there- and the exhaustion won, sending him back into roiling dreams.

It became a routine for what must have been a few days- eat a little, sleep a little- wake up repeatedly and in pain or panic to find still the only person there was Hissrad- and Adaar resented and hated being calmed down by him, how part of him wanted to find it familiar to have the Qunari talking soothingly _when it shouldn't be_. Everything should have felt different, knowing what he knew now.

It actually helped that when Hissrad needed sleep- or to leave the room on some business- Adaar wound up chained to the bed- or rather, it helped the first few times, keeping him so angry and panicked that it got rid of that twisted wish that _somewhere_ in there, maybe it hadn't just been Hissrad or Arvaarad- since clearly there was no _katoh_ out of it. It was clearly a routine, a rule that the Qunari would follow, and he was not going to waste a lot of time trying to coax Adaar into cooperating.

When he tried to fight it, he just got overpowered, still not physically recovered enough, always stiff with pain even when no longer starving or dehydrated- and for that matter, he'd become so reliant on his magic over the years that without it- he would have been at a disadvantage no matter what. And if he still reflexively tried using magic- that made the rebellion end faster. Pain enough to send him to his knees.

But the world seemed to keep narrowing down with every hour, every wake up, to be comprised of _memories_ of other people, actual friends, allies- _Dorian_ \- and a reality of Hissrad. Who could almost seem like Bull- the lie he'd wanted to believe. That his other allies, his friends, were still out there somewhere felt almost unreal-

Part of Adaar desperately wanted to have some excuse to believe that Bull really had existed and cared beyond Hissrad, which would open the door to hoping he was still there- _why doesn't he let me talk, really talk- is it because it's the rules, or because he doesn't_ want _to hear me? No.. it- it's because it is rules. This is Hissrad, and his current job is Arvaarad. Every touch, every soothing word, every reassurance- every pin, every chain, every insult, argument, suggestion- it's for the Qun. Every silence if I try and get him to say_ why _I am really here, what is happening outside. What is happening to the Inquisition, to our allies, to the people who thought Hissrad was Bull as well- for all I know they_ could _have attacked others, killed them- even the camp. What did he do after taking me out? He will never tell me unless told to by whoever is above him in rank-_

There was nothing to do, beyond sleep, the brief dealings with Hissrad, and copies of the Prophet's writings or treatises on them to read. And with dreams or that reading material as options he kept wanting to try and talk to the Qunari about- anything _else_. 

And when finally taken out of the room, and out of the temple entirely- the isolation stayed. He was Bas Saarebas, and Hissrad was his keeper- there were other guards, soldiers, with the group, even an actual Saarebas and Arvaarad, but any looks from them were brief, and strictly to see that he was not causing a problem. They didn't even talk about him or around him as if he wasn't there, and after being Herald and Inquisitor so long, it was so jarring as to be terrifying even without being in the Saarebas restraints.

Suddenly he would have much rather been back in their room. Actually alone, where at least Hissrad did sometimes speak to him even when not _entirely_ needed. Chained or not-

Hissrad moved his mount in a bit, watching him closely- he still had the sword made at Skyhold on his back, dawnstone that blazed with Dagna's best demon and dragon slaying runes. He hadn't even paid attention before, but now it caught his eye as the warrior's shoulders shifted and his anger _flared_.

_The best tools get kept and used- Fuck Hissrad. And his Qun-_

_Concentrate, you aren't just a mage. Where the fuck are we going, and what is the landscape like? Scout the enemy territory they're escorting you through._ _Act like the Inquisitor, don't listen to the liar, you still_ are _the Inquisitor and if nothing else- when you get given a chance, you can bring down as much of an avalanche as possible._

He slowed his breathing- Solas and Dorian both had gotten him more used to actual meditation. And even though he'd suddenly vanished, Solas was still a better memory to listen to than Hissrad.

Adaar didn't notice the chuckle or smile from his Arvaarad- forcing his concentration on what he _wanted_ to see, himself.


	9. The Demon You Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar at least earns a little more respect as Basalit-an rather than just Bas Saarebas, when he does the heroic thing rather than just try and make a huge crater.

Adaar growled, staring towards what had been a village's square from just beyond where demons would sense the party easily. It had been a tiring ride, even though not a far one into the countryside past the fortress-like city. He had kept his anger and concentration, maybe slowly getting used to the constant, extra pain and feeling like the lyrium in his skin was crawling constantly through it, wanting to join whatever was in the collar and chains- but it still wore him down, and he'd been beginning to falter again.

There were more despair demons than generally seen from one minor rift. Only one rage demon. But still- it was enough to make him feel- _better_. He really _liked_ hunting demons, destroying them. It was a simple, straight forward fight, provided there wasn't an intelligent one like Imshael.

Hissrad put a hand on his shoulder as he almost instinctively started forward- “No. You don't get to fight them here. You get to weaken the rift, the demons, close it when they're gone. _Maybe_ use the anchor squash a bad wave. But you don't get to go in and fight,” the Qunari had a slight irritation in his voice.

 _Means you don't get to either- because you have to stay right by me._ That it actually bothered even Hissrad to miss out on a real fight was a tiny, bitter, satisfaction

One of the other Qunari of rank- though Adaar neither knew nor cared what he was- another Ben-Hassrath or whatever- for the first time paid direct attention to him. It was a suspicious, warning look.

 _I could crush fighters, not just demons. This is a test and a gamble- they're not just keeping Hissrad here as others start in. There will be enough of them to kill both of us._ He laughed, or would have, if not choked- it still was a recognizable enough sound to upset a few of the other guards, but Hissrad just unlocked whatever kept his voice silenced.

“Something funny?”

“This rift was chosen deliberately for the first- you _know_ I won't take revenge over getting it closed, seeing a village destroyed and abandoned.” Adaar's voice was still quiet, he felt like it was rusty, and he sounded strange to himself.

“And there's more like it. You know what demons do to anyone they catch up with. Soldiers, civilians, even kids.”

“Yeah,” he took a breath, “ _Yeah_. Fuck you. Gonna unlock the anchor before or after they charge in?”

Their exchange was being noticed, disapprovingly. Hissrad though clearly had enough rank to remind them that of _course_ the non-Qun mage was acting like a Tal-Vashoth- as near as Adaar could make out from the rapid Qunlat, and the phrases he understood.

He bit back a gasp as the Ben-Hassrath/Arvaarad did undo the gauntlet of lyrium chains that had kept his hand not just covered, but _closed_ for days. Straightening his fingers was unpleasant, and made his muscles jump.

Once the fighters and the real Saarebas were engaging the demons, he unleashed the anchor for the first time since the betrayal. That he didn't even know how long it had been made him angry again at the thought- but even though his anchor was unwrapped, and possibly the controls over the rest of his magic also relaxed- it was painful when he tore energy from the rift and the demons it was sustaining.

“ _Vashkath-_ ” he was breaking out in a sweat by the time it had sapped that stage, and shaking. But it had weakened the demons, making it easier for the Qunari to destroy them- of course that just meant another wave.

The second wave, he didn't interfere with, it was weaker- the Qunari other than Hissrad near him shifted their weight, but didn't speak to him, of course. The third wave brought a pride demon roaring out with wraiths and two final despair demons, and Adaar immediately brought down the crushing weight of the anchor- the wraiths evaporated, the despair demons screamed and howled, and were kept from flying, and even the pride demon staggered about. It may have surprised the Qunari fighters as well, but he concentrated on _not_ letting it touch them, and they took advantage of it while it lasted.

He was shaking harder, pouring sweat, but he grit his teeth and pulled power from the rift again, to destroy the shields of the surviving demons- and then closed the rift entirely. When the anchor closed, it was like his own strings had been cut, he found himself on hands and knees, barely able to breathe or see. His skin burned- and it took him a moment to blink the tears from his eyes and focus on the anchor hand- ah, it burned, because it was burned slightly- blistering around the rings that would fasten the binding back on.

He was being pulled back up to his feet- not just by Hissrad- though that was who steadied him and got a vial to his lips.

He didn't even think, drinking down whatever it was, and he was aware of less pain on his hand as Hissrad got a healing ointment on it, but still swore when his fingers were forced closed and locked again- and then he felt the enchantments tighten around his voice again as well- around everything.

Even with whatever he'd been given, he would have fallen right back down if not being held. Fortunately, even as far back as he could be to use the mark, it still wasn't much of a distance to get him to one of the abandoned homes, and into a chair. The pain was lessening, although that at first just meant that he could even really feel it- once he and Hissrad were alone, the Qunari freed his voice again, if not his aching hand, and offered another vial.

“Painkiller. Just take it, Adaar,” and the mage wasn't going to argue, “You got it done, but what's going on? Talk to me.”

“Felt.. like being in the Fade, using the anchor- or like when Corypheus tried taking the anchor off me. The lyrium, always hurt even just my own but- shit..feels like what's in my skin wants to get into the metal, or what's in the metal wants into my skin. Worse than when I just.. try using my magic with everything locked up, fuck if I know why- ask Solas,” he shuddered as the pain lessened further, feeling light-headed, but that was an improvement.

Hissrad snorted, “Sounds more like a Dagna question. _Relax_ , Adaar, far as I know, she's doing her thing at Skyhold, and will be til she blows herself and the rest of the place up,” all Hissrad had done was say a friend's name and Adaar had jerked upright in alarm.

The mention of Skyhold directly also cut through Adaar like a knife, he slumped back down again tiredly- that was his _home_ , and not a place he was likely to see again. “I wasn't just brought here for rifts- we would have come if invited- or that just not believed out of your reports? Why am I really here? Inquisition just too big and stabilizing?”

Hissrad took in a breath, and chuckled, “You would've been a good Ben-Hassrath,” and he sounded so like an admiring Iron Bull that it it twisted into Adaar, even though there was no way he ever would have wanted _that_.

“Never a chance. Not even if I weren't S _aarebas-_ for fuck's sake B- _Hissrad-_ how long has it even been since you took me?”

“Forget it, Adaar.”

“No regrets at all? Nothing? No real friendships lost? Not even the Chargers? Really no _feelings_ for anyone?”

“Like you, you mean, and maybe your Vint? _Forget it_ , Adaar, and just tell me, you need anything? Hungry? Looks like you're hurting less- you always are up fast from getting knocked on your ass, even if it's just to have it happen again.”

His calling Dorian 'Vint,' was another stab, the sudden caretaker routine again twisting it in his chest. _How could someone do this- how could I have never_ seen _he was just Hissrad- how could I believe-_

“You saw so much, about magic, everything- how can you just report it all and look at _Saa_ -” he was choked off as Hissrad leaned in suddenly and silenced him with the collar's control rod. He actually tried grabbing for it with his one good hand, but was caught by the wrist.

“I report it, and it's up to them how it fits. I do my job, the Tamas do theirs. Don't try taking it again, Adaar, and _watch your ass_ in public,” he jerked Adaar a little closer, and said more quietly, “Rules are stretched because you're recognized _Basalit-an,_ but they don't break. You're here, Adaar, and either I look after you, or they replace me with someone who doesn't know and hasn't seen what I have. Which do you prefer?”

 _Maybe just strike and die- leave the fucking rifts to be here- do your Matriarchs wonder why there's so many despair demons in them?_ But he didn't try mouthing that thought, because even as it slithered through his mind, he knew he couldn't do that, even if he never was entirely sure _why_. Other than he was still Inquisitor- or Herald- he'd bought into that shit job after all. He was _not_ a Hissrad.

Who was still hanging onto his wrist, and staring down at him with too close to a _Bull_ expression again.

“So, Adaar, asking again, you need food, something more for any pain?”

Adaar shook himself, jerking his arm away, mouthing the word ' _Food_ ' and feeling the knots twist tighter inside him.

“Alright, Adaar.”

The tone of voice was too much- and yet- he remembered the other, the true Arvaarad on the ship. Just staring, never speaking except for orders, never letting him speak- never _asking_ where he hurt, if he hurt, if he needed anything.

 

_Fuck. Fuck me. If I am going to stay even a little sane, have any chance at all to wait for a chance- I do need it to be Hissrad._

 

Adaar leaned, burying his face in his hands- or at least, his good hand, and just waited while his keeper ordered food at the doorway, trying to _not_ think.


	10. The Demon You Didn't Recognize

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, shit.

Varric was waiting for Dorian in the great hall, the dwarf looking- worn. Not just exhausted.

“Sparkler- you need to hear this before the meeting, or instead of it. In private, probably.”

The mage stared at him for a few moments, “Which one's dead? Or am I wrong and everyone is just-” he lost the train of thought before getting to whatever reflexive bit of snark his tongue had gone for. _What else could it possibly be?_

Varric sighed, and pulled Dorian along into the nearest side door- what had once been Solas' domain, the walls covered with the Elven murals about Adaar- and at least a little more private than the great hall with all its currently frantic and nervous activity.

“In a way- I guess the Iron Bull- shit, there is no way to say this well. Cole- he heard a few things. There's no proof beyond what he picked up, but _you_ know the kid. How he feels about the Inquisitor, and how he's always been accurate- except now maybe for one case.”

“Varric, just get to explaining. _What did he hear happen to Bull?”_ Dorian leaned heavily on his staff, tired, but refusing to go take the seat at the nearby desk.

“Dorian- the kid heard Adaar getting betrayed- or at least heard him hurting over it- and it was _by_ Bull. He never left the Qunari after all, never was really Tal-Vashoth, always Ben-Hassrath, right to this end.”

That made no sense at first, absolutely none. “Impossible. That- he _cannot possibly_ -”

_Betray people he cared-_ seemed _to care- about? Vishante Kaffes, I_ know _that is not how the world works. But Bull- he was with Adaar when an alliance was sacrificed. He- this has to be wrong, the signs of an ambush, the- way the attackers knew exactly where the Inquisitor would be, the way no sentries at the actual camp even heard a sound when it was not_ that _far away. And the Chargers clearly were convinced- the way they looked. The missing ones- deserted or also attacked? The_ Chargers _think Bull did it._

Dorian felt like ice was forming in his veins, painfully cold. Distant thoughts of why, how, and what next were trying to snap into focus. After all, he knew betrayal well- they were such old drinking friends. But _this_ – if it was true could there be any hope of mistake or complicated trickery-

“Come on, Sparkler,” Varric sighed, “I know that expression, drinking first, thinking later, and Andraste's tits, I agree right now. Let's head downstairs, plenty of drinks, no other people right now. Unless you want to get to the Tavern- by now pretty sure the Chargers have kicked everyone else out.”

“I do not think I am up for that large a ' _we were all tricked and betrayed'_ party right now- _if_ I even really believe it-”

“Downstairs it is, then.”

Dorian would have rather been alone- or at least, he thought he would- but for company to quietly fall apart in front of- or even loudly do so- Varric was as comforting to have around as anyone could be.


	11. The Demon You Dream Of

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sleep is not easy in Skyhold these days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying really hard to keep a nearly-matched timeline between what's going on with Adaar, and what's going on without him, but sometimes things might sort of skip ahead or wind back as the scenes switch- if I think there's a serious time warp, I'll try and make it clear (so far it's.. pretty even i think!)

_Adaar was on his knees and naked unless one counted the silk over his eyes, and the other bindings. He was kept arched just slightly backwards by the ropes and leather that ran up from his wrists and arms behind him and looped around his curved horns, the leather straps able to be adjusted so he could straighten, or be arched further- his breathing was harsh and ragged, the lyrium marks on his skin catching the low light and seeming to shimmer or glow slightly. The kind of remembered image or dream that could make someone sweat themselves awake in tangled sheets-_

_But Bull was also kneeling there, kissing the Inquisitor as he tightened the cinches, jerking arms up and bending his body and neck backwards until he was trying to scream in pain. The silk and leather becoming heavy chains, a metal collar crushing him down as well, while Bull kept holding and kissing his lover until there was a heavy_ _**snap** _ _of bone and Adaar went limp and lifelessly still, falling over when he was finally released-_

  
  


Dorian was sweating when he woke, pulling himself to sit, clutching at his head.

He now better understood Adaar's more intense dislike of sleep- not that he had been completely unvisited by nightmares before, having more than one reason he'd started reading late into the night at an early age- but since his Inquisitor had gone missing, of course there had been more of them. They seemed to be getting progressively worse, and no amount of his training and discipline was helping with them- although the drinking could be partially to blame for that as well if he wished to be honest with himself.

_Being that honest with myself however means telling myself to stop drinking. And sobriety is full of its own nightmares. Drunk, I have an excuse to not be doing anything, to not even know what might be done._

There had been the suspicion the Qunari were involved, and having been given quite graphic accounts of what they did to mages- their _own_ mages, both by tutors and just because that manner of horror was so entertaining a conversational topic to some types of minds that could be found around the upper classes and lowest dives both- But now there were real memories pulled them, and his dreaming mind was rearranging them almost gleefully.

_Going into the Fade fully right now for any reason would be such a terrible idea._

It had taken more than a day- both drunk and somewhat sober- for Dorian to finally _believe_ it may have been Bull who took Adaar for the Qun, to admit he _could_ believe it. He still didn't want to, but curse everything that Cole had heard and passed on, it had been Bull. There was no way Cole would have, possibly no way he _could_ have made such things up, and how or why anyone would trick him into 'hearing' falsehoods like that? Theoretically possible but- pointless, since there were easier ways to handle a spirit that could sometimes hear the pain of his friends even at great distance.

One of those ways was the very reason Varric and Cole were gone by the time messengers were even sent to them by the Inquisition. Assassins had targeted Cole _before Adaar was even captured_. And might have succeeded, if not for some enemy of the Antivan Crows who'd heard about it and gotten involved for his own reasons. Some friend of Leliana's, who had met Varric before- a convoluted set of connections that didn't really even matter.

It was logical to think that someone involved in the abduction had thought the spirit might pick something up. The list of people who knew anything about who he was or what he could do was laughably small- and was just about the same list of people who knew he had followed Varric to Kirkwall to help there.

It was logical that Bull- _Hissrad, Cole keeps calling him that now-_ was how Adaar could have been taken quietly.

Logic was absolutely no comfort. Drinking wasn't much either. Cole had tried but- Dorian had not been ready, he wasn't even ready for the less invasive attempts of comfort or sympathy from the others.

As always, though, the mage felt rather more guilty about his angry reactions to Cole than to others- he knew perfectly well that even if he was becoming more human, he was still a spirit.

“Even though you know I don't mean to, I do, and I'm still sorry.”

 _That_ made Dorian just about jump out of his skin.

“Sorry,” Cole apologized, from where he was standing in the corner like an overly gangly puppy.

“ _Vishante Kaffes_ \- Cole why are you in my room- no, never mind. The dreams. Everything. You want to help,” the mage tried very hard to get his temper under control, frustrated, “But I need.. some time to myself. Alone. There have to be others who are far less willing to shout at you.”

The spirit was clearly agitated, “They worry about you. And he was afraid. I want to help Adaar and I can't- I can't find him- I can't hear him, too far away, too blocked and hidden, but- _Let him be safe at Skyhold- let Cullen and the others not ever let him out of their sight-”_

That was not something that had already been passed onto him, and it sucked the air out of Dorian's lungs, he got his breath back, and half laughed, though his voice shook, “I.. doubt he meant it to be taken entirely literally. But they are certainly not up for the idea of my leaving Skyhold. Which I would ignore, if I could think of anything to accomplish elsewhere.”

“It's not just because of who you are to him.”

Dorian muttered under his breath, and started to drag himself out of the bed- still fully clothed from the night before, “What isn't?”

“Found family. Friends. Watching, worrying about you for who you are to us as much as Adaar.”

He let out a breath, “..I.. am aware,” _ignoring that it was my own doubts pulled out,_ “And- fine, I feel slightly better for the moment. I suppose I should actually try and make it to the meetings today, if only to find out how much closer the world is to catching fire, and how many wars it seems there will be. Just- for now, a little time actually alone?”

Cole did leave, giving Dorian privacy to clean up, change, shave, and leave the sanctuary of his room for the first time in two days.


	12. The Demon is In the Details

He remembered soon enough _why_ he had preferred to stay in his own room. Skyhold _used_ to feel restful, but now there were too few places- he kept seeing shadows of Adaar everywhere- not _literally_ thankfully. And now, so much worse- the tavern, the training areas of the courtyards, all of those regular haunts of Bull-

He kept wanting to scrub his skin off after walking through them, or even looking at them, in the case of the tavern, since he could easily avoid walking through it.

His own room, however, had seldom had Adaar in it, and never in his bed. And- for various reasons, Bull had never shown up at his door, so somehow it remained somewhat a sanctuary. He had at least before thought it was because they both knew he needed a space completely to _himself_. But now, of course, there were second, third, and fourth guesses when it came to Hissrad.

_Thinking of him by that name makes it slightly easier, though not nearly by enough._

The War Room shouldn't have been too terrible, for memories- neither he nor the Qunari had been in it often, but it did mean seeing everyone else be snappish, exhausted, trying to keep things as controlled as they could. And apparently, Krem was now one of the council regulars, which _was_ an unpleasant, grating reminder- though hardly his, or any of the remaining Chargers' faults. The company had been devastated, and now it was only most of the core group, the officers, that remained- officially _as_ Inquisition now, by their own vote. No longer mercenaries.

_And one could wonder if they're here to try and find proof that their Captain might have somehow been forced, or if they're hoping for a chance of vengeance. But then, I keep wondering which I'd most like to look for too. Blight take it- he was with them for even longer, and he just left them, betrayed them too, even if they were technically mercenaries, they were part of us- and now they will eventually be known as the ones who'd followed a traitor._

  
  


“We are waiting for a response from the Qunari- meanwhile we are backing the Tevinter Imperium's denials that they had responsibility. Unfortunately, there are still any number of powerful nobles who still wish some excuse for war with the Imperium- Divine Victoria is making it clear that the Chantry's official position _will_ be for peace- but they will.. also back us if we are the ones that call for a war, _if_ we have solid evidence as to who took Inquisitor Adaar. And while we know it was Hissrad- and Divine Victoria herself would believe Cole's word as enough-”Charter shook her head, “We still are just trying to scramble for evidence. This plot- it was clearly organized and planned for quite some time. We have whispers of Qunari troop preparations- certainly in the Anderfels and Rivain, the settlements seem.. restless. But they could easily say it is just defensive preparations because they are accused. _Tevinter_ is making preparations to defend itself. The Archon also claims that they are now fully rooting out any remaining Venatori- as well as other fanatical groups, as a gesture of goodwill, to prove that no one in the Imperium was behind the Inquisitor's disappearance.”

Krem shifted restlessly, a sour expression on his face, but didn't say anything. Dorian, however, swore.

“ _Kaffes_ I am sure they are- any number of Magistars and lesser nobles or mages are going to be taking advantage for their own gains, as much as those in Orlais. Accusing their political enemies of involvement. Maneuvering for either safety, or a place where they think they can find more victory and power should there be war and they successfully defend the nation. It will be abolitionists or other progressives higher on the list for rooting out than expansionist zealots such as the Venatori were, they are considered more divisive.”

_Adaar would be- will be- infuriated that he, even remotely, is being used as an excuse for that._ I _am infuriated. Not just because of his name being dragged into it- this will set Tevinter back further from what it_ could _become._

Charter just nodded, and looked to Cassandra, Cullen, and Josephine in turn. It was the Ambassador who stepped forward next.

“And as this goes on, there is one thing we must decide, for the Inquisition's stance. If we can prove it was the Qunari, we will also have to either make our own call as to whether we wish for allies to join us in war- which is what many seem to expect of us, whoever we find responsible.”

“ _Kaffes-_ no,” Dorian spoke without even thinking, grimacing at the idea. “War would never actually get him back through war- if.. if he even is alive now. The last thing he would want his Inquisition to do is invade, rather than defend-” he stopped, as his mind caught up. It was all true- including the fact that Adaar might already be dead, rather than a captive somewhere- and that was what froze him again. No, not just that, admitting how close to hopeless it seemed it was to get him back if he _was_ alive.

“Dorian is right, on both counts, I believe,” Cassandra stepped in since he had stopped. “We -you- can try and call allies to peaceful sanctions, but- a war of vengeance cannot be led by the Inquisition. The Seekers will back you for peaceful resolution and restitution. If the Qunari did this as a prelude to invasion, however-”

“ _Then_ we fight them, when they come. Inquisitor Adaar meant for us to watch, and protect. From the rifts that are still open, from bandits, blood mages, demons- to try and prevent wars. But if they took him, and then they come from their island to take more for the Qun- we must join in the fight,” the Knight-Commander sighed, “So yes, I agree also with Dorian.”

“Even if it's defending Tevinter? It is the most likely target- well, Sehron first,” Krem finally spoke, seeming less than comfortable with doing so, but then, the question he raised was uncomfortable, even for Dorian. Especially for him.

“Defending anyone will depend on whether or not they accept our offers of aid. If Tevinter asks for an alliance to stop an invasion- we.. have to consider it,” Josephine shook her head, “It could lose us other allies, however, even if we can find real proof that the Qunari officially sanctioned and started this plot.”

“Well, being heretical outcasts was so enjoyable last time, so maybe it can be again,” Dorian pinched at the bridge of his nose, “We know the kinds of terms Adaar would push for. But- at the same time, if the Qunari invade, they would kill the slaves as much as any other who are not willing to convert- it would be them, and commoners conscripted should things get that bad, to be thrown at front lines- And the more threatened any malificari feel- the more sacrifices will be made in the background, more blood magic, until so many it cannot be hidden. At which point if we do aid them, we would have to turn around and also stop somehow.”

“ _Well if you do decide to go back, Dorian- and make your changes,” Adaar had grinned, “Would you like me to come along and help? Sounds like it'd be fun to watch you if nothing else. I can close rifts, you can open minds, and if Bull comes along he'll enjoy breaking any skulls that are too thick for your patience.”_

Dorian twitched, blinking to clear his vision of the starting blur.

“At this point, that is entirely a 'what if' situation,” Charter shook her head, “Another is what do we do if the Qunari- or whoever has the Inquisitor, suddenly do make a ransom demand? Tells us to stay out of the war, for example?”

“We- cannot accept that,” Cullen growled, frustrated, “If that is their plan somehow, no- we cannot negotiate terms.”

“Then, there is one other thing you will have to start considering in earnest,” it was the Divine's representative, who usually stayed silent during the meetings, “If it becomes evident he is dead, if they make such demands and you must refuse- who _will_ be the next Inquisitor?”

That was met with the silence of a half dozen people who wanted to avoid that thought and question as long as possible.


	13. The Demon Who Knows You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adaar chooses a tried and true method of dealing with his pain, isolation, and general distress. Not that he was given many choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW/CW: Extremely dubious consent, though actual sex acts more referenced than explicit. Is last few paragraphs after dialog bits.

The second rift hadn't been as bad- maybe because he'd used the anchor more recently- or maybe just because Hissrad had gotten him to take more painkillers before even using it- any lightheadedness from them being burned away quickly because of what pain still happened. Either way, he was able to actually walk, and get on his mount rather than being carried.

He _had_ done his job weakening the thing well enough that a rage demon had rushed him- but of course, Bull- _HISSRAD-_ had been there to kill it before he'd had to try- though he'd found he had summoned a blade of ice fairly well- other than, of course, the pain. So- his magic in general _was_ freed when the anchor was- they had no way of totally blocking or unblocking one without the other.

Now also, there was a bit more respect- of a sort- from the Qunari in general- _Because I'm doing my task, how good of me for a demon whispering Bas-_ but still, it was clear that no one would, or could, talk to him, help him, or even really _look_ at him without Hissrad telling them to. He was able to listen though as there was a bit more conversation around him- unfortunately, it wasn't generally _helpful_ for what he wanted to know, even if it was letting him put together bits and pieces more of Qunlat. Did they never gossip about what was happening outside of Par Vollen?

_Is the Inquisition still together? Yes- it has to be, Cullen and Josephine wouldn't let it just collapse, Leliana will support it as best she can, and Cassandra- we already made it a deal that the Seekers and Inquisition would be..tied together. Each watching the other as equals. It's not like even two months have passed- as best as I can tell. Vashkath- I miss them. Skyhold._

He dismounted stiffly when they reached another village where they were apparently going to stay, even though it still was only mid-afternoon, and his hand twinged angrily- not from the anchor, just unhappy muscles. He fell pretty much flat into a bed, taking a deep breath, Hissrad glancing to him- and then sitting to read some messages he'd been handed. Adaar tried to focus on him, watching for any sign of expression change- he thought he saw something- anger? Upset, at least, before the Ben-Hassrath glanced to him, and then left the room for a bit- with the messages, of course.

 _Didn't bother chaining me like he's supposed to- he knows I won't be even trying to go anywhere._ He of course immediately had the contrary urge to try, but it only lasted him the time it took him to get up. _I hope that look was because everyone is fine, maybe blocking... whatever it was I was taken for. They can't be holding me as a hostage, or demanding ransom- or maybe they are. Bull- Hissrad- knows they wouldn't, he'd have to have reported that, but then, people in charge don't always listen to even their best advisers or spies._

He fell back, and dozed a bit- there really wasn't anything else to do, but couldn't- didn't- fully sleep. The walls of Qunari buildings were built thick, muffling sound- and turning every set of apartments or barracks into a miniature fortress. And Hissrad was gone for what at least began to feel like a very long time. That the room was lit with oil lamps rather than candle meant he couldn't even try figuring out how long it had burned- he really was becoming tempted again to walk out- just so something happened. _Anything_. Finally, Adaar tried stretching, and pacing- pushups- though he wasn't in the best of shape to do them one-handed, and it was..difficult to use the closed hand. He grit his teeth, and tried anyway.

Hissrad finally came back in as he was doing that, and just- stared a moment after locking the door's bolt. Something like a short laugh escaped him, and he walked over as Adaar pretended to ignore him, at least. No one had _said_ he couldn't try and get back in better shape.

“Don't fuck your hand up- stop for a minute, Adaar,” Hissrad pulled him up, not really letting him try and ignore the order. The Qunari sighed, “If anyone knocks, you keep your hand hidden, got it?”and to the prisoner's shock- he undid that damned gauntlet. Again, his fingers being released to straighten, no longer having to make a fist, made him wince, and he rubbed at them and the hand with his other one, nodding belatedly to the warrior's instruction. “Need pain killers?”

Adaar shook his head, stubbornly. Wasn't bad enough, and he knew enough of what he tasted in the mix to know it could be a problem if he took too much. _Of course he gives me an addictive one. Granted, it's strong, and works better than others would with the pain this shit causes but-_

“Sit down, Adaar, you're a fucking mess.”

 _No shit, Hissrad._ But he did sit on the backless chair he was half pointed, half gently pushed to, still working at his hand, and up it, along the arm- until Hissrad caught his wrists carefully. That made Adaar tense- which, since all his muscles already were knotted- was even more unpleasant.

“You need to be able to move tomorrow- painkillers, or working the knots out. Or both. You probably need both.”

He shook his head hard at _that_. To all of the options, but Hissrad- unlocked his voice. “Pick one, Adaar.”

“That shit's..addictive. Doesn't hurt nearly bad enough-”

“Alright then,” and strong, callused fingers felt along muscle and tendon- pressing in carefully at places all along that painfully cramped hand, and then slowly worked up the arm.

Adaar meant to pull away, but- couldn't quite, gasping as his eyes fogged with actual tears both from the angry knots, but- the touch. Those fingers. It froze him up, and choked him- but the massaging moved even further up his arm, thoroughly- and then Hissrad was pulling the robes open and off his shoulders, to keep going. He even did bring out oil, and it felt so good- and yet had him also shaking from anger and frustrated fear. But when the worst knots started to give way anyway- the relief, pure physical relief, was enough to make him gasp, then moan softly.

Hissrad moved back, stopping.

“No-” Adaar said it unthinkingly- gasped it- “Still.. right side. Don't stop,” and a little bit of his mind snarled not at Hissrad, but at _himself_. He flushed.

“Adaar- you know what you're going to wind up wanting. Painkillers still seem worse?”

“ _Yes._ ”

There was a moment of silence behind him, but then Hissrad pulled him up, and got him face down on the bed, and went back to working out the knots- oh the pain that caused them was still there, but- still, between the relief, temporary that it might be- and just being touched, Adaar did start to physically react exactly as Hissrad had suggested he would. And while the Inquisitor felt completely twisted up by it- he still shifted himself to get his unmarked hand down and under the kilt to start rubbing at himself with a tight groan that made the Qunari's breath hiss through his teeth softly.

A bit of anger helped, a slight bitter satisfaction that he'd maybe made the Ben-Hassrath feel _something,_ even if just sexual frustration.

From there, it was a little unclear, just progressing somehow in fitful moments, he knew vaguely he'd probably said yes when asked- pretty sure he'd been asked, given the new rules. Not so sure if he had hoped he could for a little while just pretend it was the past- but that was impossible, even though it still felt good while it happening. Stripped down, blindfolded, and clutching the bed, silenced again by the collar that B-Hissrad had reactivated, whether to ensure he wouldn't somehow accidentally let a little magic slip, or because the Qunari didn't want any risk of others hearing him- or maybe Hissrad himself just didn't want to hear him.

Especially if he cried out for Bull.

Hissrad almost could have been as gagged himself, though he still spoke a few times, shortly, to give orders, and to give brief warning before actually taking Adaar, but that just made it easier to stay lost. He didn't want to know how much Hissrad was enjoying him, didn't _want_ to be told lies, or even truths- just needed contact with another body, something physical other than pain, and exhaustion. Familiar things even without who or what else was missing. Familiar both to him and the Qunari that had him writhing and sweating for hours, until Adaar was spent enough to drop into completely exhausted and almost dreamless sleep.

 

His Arvaarad was nothing if not efficient at using what he knew.


	14. Sparked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Outside of Par Vollen, the politics are becoming more and more difficult, and Dorian's father thinks the mage should return to Tevinter before things get out of hand. The letter doesn't inspire the sort of motivation to start moving forward that Halward hoped for. Or at least, not in the direction of forward he wanted his son pointed in.

An official response from Par Vollen arrived- the Qunari disavowed any knowledge of what 'the Iron Bull' had done. He had not been their agent since the dreadnought incident. They felt they had made his status as Tal-Vashoth clear at the time- and it was almost impossible to get anything _but_ official responses from the island nation. The Qunari kept foreign traders and diplomats strictly confined to enclaves even in the most peaceful of times, and now, like within Tevinter, being accused gave them a perfectly legitimate reason to tighten all borders.

The mainland settlements were more wary of outsiders too as a result, and everyone was left- frustrated by the hard denial. For all that they knew they couldn't have answered any sort of ransom demands, allowed Adaar to be used a hostage- the official claim of innocence allowed some of the northern nations closer to- and more timid about- the Qunari's home island to continue to avoid any real, official position themselves.

Everyone was grateful that the Inquisitor had saved the world, but while some leaders saw the Inquisition as a possible mighty ally, who could help them as needed should they call for even trade restrictions- there were enough rulers in the free marches, and among the merchant princes of Antiva who saw them as a threat, not just an army but busybodies who interfered with politics and wanted to make too many changes to the status quo. And Rivaini leaders were wary of anything that looked like it could become another Exalted March against those who didn't follow the Chant in their borders, as much as they were of the Qunari themselves.

_'Thank you for saving the world, Inquisition, but either make the Herald of Andraste an official martyr in need of bloody vengeance so we can try and destroy the Qunari and also Tevinter once and for all, or we really can't be bothered with more than the thank you.'_

_Or, for some, 'Now we're seeing all the changes you wanted to make, and that you gave commoners so much hope and so many ideas, especially nonhumans, well, either give us a way to send them off against an enemy en masse or we simply must concentrate on keeping everyone where they belong.'_

Dorian was certain he wasn't the only one regularly grinding teeth, and beginning to have a very difficult time wanting to keep to their ideals and decisions. Perhaps not conquer nations or noble territories, but at least march in and ram a few heads into walls. Set a few fires. Set a few people on fire.

And the messages Dorian received from friends within the Imperium still- well, those and and the word from Chantry and Inquisition agents were grim. Both the Archon and the Black Divine were very interested in protecting Tevinter, as it was, with them in power. Adaar and the Inquisition were blackest of heresy- even if they still had been cautiously negotiating about rift closures before his disappearance. And apparently, yes, as he'd suspected and feared, it was the progressives, especially among the lesser nobles or commoners being rooted out.

While no one heard directly of or from Calpernia and any she still had by her side- there were whispers of uprisings among lower mages, commoners, and slaves being spread. Many Magisters were convinced that should outsiders invade, even Qunari, the 'ungrateful and unwashed masses' would welcome them with open arms.

Dorian had even gotten a letter from his father. Which he'd accepted from Charter rather than having her just take what information she could out of it and burn it- and like everything to do with his home, it left him with mixed emotions.

It had been cautiously worded, and of course, had implored him to come home, where he belonged, to help keep order and push towards progress and lessened corruption. Some of it might have even been tempting, except for all the little tiny details, reminders that he himself _had_ changed even further since coming south. His father's idea of honor and what the empire should be wasn't enough-

If his father even was truthful about those ideas. If he wouldn't just become trapped.

The man certainly still didn't know a thing about his son's feeling past his expectations of them. Previous contact attempts had shown he'd heard the rumors of Dorian and the Inquisitor at least, this one made it more clear he believed them. But if he thought his attempts at condolence were going to be at all effective-

 _Vishante kaffes, even when his words start as about my loss- the_ world's _loss- it is still about him, and about the Pavus name. He_ did _and still does believe that the only reason I would have wound up in Adaar's bed was rebellion_ _against_ him _\- his plans_. _Treated no different than before other than he's grateful that it wasn't a slum whorehouse, but not entirely sure if his status as Herald makes Adaar more_ respectable _than a vulgari, because he was-_ is- _Vashoth. He even called Adaar_ Qunari _, that is how little he cares._

_So for all his regrets, he still believes that I never have been serious in my reasons, that none of even my earlier wishes were... real. He simply cannot comprehend that my refusal to live a lie is not some phase, that I am even capable of caring for anything or anyone if he does not also care or immediately understand the concept._

_Father waves around a vague offer that he is now able to overlook my 'proclivities' if I just will be discreet, because I am so needed- not once does it enter his mind that actual love might exist for me. Is it because he and mother can't stand each other, and thus can't comprehend it for anyone, or because he believes it's impossible for men to have more than some sort of rutting lust with other men?_

He could feel the weight of his amulet against his skin, returned to him by the Inquisitor, despite protestations. The metal felt cold to him now.

_If I were to go back- even if he did not try imprisoning me or changing me, he would get in my way. If I go back to Tevinter, it will not be into his actual household. I will have to somehow use the name without him or the estates._

Not that he would go back now, that any offer short of 'we actually have Adaar, come back and he's free' could have been more than slightly tempting. Adaar had to be alive somewhere. If he was alive, there _was_ some hope, surely. Some information would come in, someone would think of a way to get spies into Par Vollen, would find some dissident who had heard whispers-

He had burned the letter, and had finally found himself unable to keep avoiding going up into Adaar's room- he still had his key. Bull's room had been torn apart quite literally for any sort of clues, though of course there had been no signs at all of Hissrad having plans, having sent or received messages. All of Skyhold had been gone over, repeatedly.

Except maybe for this room, which felt like some empty tomb, an unvisited shrine. Though likely even here, but not so often, and far more carefully, not leaving anything out of place.

Dorian found himself unable to leave a few things in their places. There were- _traces of Bull_ either missed, or left because they weren't recognized as having belonged to or been connected to him by anyone who didn't have unfortunately intimate knowledge of the relationship. Or because quite simply because they may have embarrassed anyone prudish who found them tucked away in a chest. But with the dreams that still plagued him, with the _guilt_ that he had never suspected-

“ _I'm also a mage. Would you prefer me bound and leashed?”_

“ _I'd buy you dinner first.”_

“ _Hopefully before you sewed my mouth shut.”_

 _A 'Vint' and Qunari suspicious of each other- but following Adaar and making it into something like a joke. Tasteless, trying to annoy each other, but not truly serious- except how much joking was it in the end? I grew to trust him- to_ like _him, and the entire time- was he just waiting for a chance, or for orders- playing with Adaar and then myself, actually wishing we were truly bound permanently- like mages should be?_

_If I had been there, if that book hadn't arrived when it had- would I have realized something was wrong in time to help stop him?Vishante kaffes, Bull had tried to prod me into coming along anyway, but I had no suspicion, no reason to suspect, did I? What did I miss that day- did he really want me to go along, or irritate me so I wouldn't?_

_Do they have Adaar chained and leashed- tongue cut out, mouth sealed-_

He couldn't keep thinking it, and the ropes and restraints certainly _had to_ go. Knowing they were in the tower room was infuriating.

Tossed out into a pile on the balcony, he set them ablaze, hot enough under his infuriated focus that they became ash relatively fast, with charred metal buckles being all that remained of some leather straps as well.

Once that was taken care of, he- wasn't entirely sure what to do again. He still _wanted_ to storm out of Skyhold and _find Adaar_. Perhaps if he could get even close enough, he could find something in the Fade, some clue, some curious spirit that noticed something and would share. Skyhold was just too far away. Up until now, though- so much effort had had to be put into diplomacy that rescue had only briefly ever come up, in a 'maybe we can come up with something with more information' way. _Or perhaps- like me- everyone really wishes to believe that he'll just fall out of the Fade in front of us again. And as soon as we were feeling less overwhelmed just by the fact he was gone- we found out who did it._

Dorian shoved back another wave of grief, and growing anger. _Diplomacy is stalled with almost everyone, utterly stopped with the Qunari. It feels like we've wasted so much time now- but we couldn't and still can't risk Celene losing her throne, or Leliana hers because the Inquisition focuses too much on this._

He left the Inquisitor's quarters again, before the emptiness became strangling- not entirely sure where he was going to go- the library, perhaps, or the undercroft, to try and find something, anything, to research, look again for any kind of idea that might be _useful_.

Varric though, was waiting for him, Cole lurking beside him. “Got some time for plotting, Sparkler?”

“...That depends entirely on what the plot is for, or who it may be against.”

“The Inquisitor for the first, the Qunari- or at the very least one of their number- for the second. Amazing what those of us not technically on the Council can start spending time sorting out. Been suggested that downstairs is a good area for unsanctioned meetings that no one really important will know anything about.”

Dorian laughed shortly, “What a lovely invitation. Why yes, I suppose I do have time in my busy schedule. ”

_'You cannot be content to throw your potential away,' he'd said in that blighted letter. But we have such very different ideas about what constitutes throwing it away- especially now. Risking my life for even a small chance to either get Adaar away from them, or at least prove they were responsible to complicate their game is certainly not a waste._

No guarantee still, that this would lead to anything, whoever was getting to be involved so unofficially. But at least it for now felt like moving forward a little- or like grounding oneself before casting a spell.


	15. At the Front of the Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unofficial, completely rogue (really, they just _happened_ to find or steal the charts and documents they needed, honest) search and rescue team for Adaar is out of Skyhold and on the Waking Sea.
> 
> Dorian finally has a conversation with the friend who's likely been hit hardest by Hissrad's actions on a personal level after the missing Herald and himself.

Dorian rubbed irritably at his jaw, feeling the ever lengthening stubble, and tried to not _completely_ lose all concentration on his work, even though that last lurch of the ship certainly had been unpleasant. Some of his notes were going to be extremely difficult to read through later, though at least even the act of writing helped focus the memory.

If only seasickness didn't keep _unfocusing_ him, as he tried to find ways that possibly, Cole's ability could be directed a little more consciously over a longer distance- or combined with something like dowsing to get an idea of location using a map. The spirit was, when not with Dorian, actually enjoying the voyage. Apparently manifestations of compassion didn't get queasy about wave motion. Nor could they help with it- Stitches _could_ help, and did, with a potion, but the downside was that it meant either drinking water, or wine so diluted that it might as well be.

At least he wasn't the only one suffering- Krem was at times as uncomfortable as Dorian, and Rocky was managing to feel worse, despite Stitches' brew. Dorian's fellow 'Vint was currently even at the same long table he was working at in the ship's mess. Though instead of poring over books or papers, the leader of the former Chargers had for a while just been slumped over the table, head in his hands or even just fully pillowed on his forearms, waiting for a dose of the soothing tonic to kick in.

Finally he straightened up and stretched a little, rubbing at the back of his neck and still looking a little sour- whether from the illness or the bitterness of betrayal that still haunted all of the not-officially-Inquisition party on board was hard to say.

“I'd started to wonder if you'd somehow fallen asleep,” the mage noted, closing the book he'd been going back through to take a break.”Or given up on living through this misery,” he added with a wince as the ship was sliding down what seemed another impressively large storm wave.

“And miss out on seeing how much of a luxurious beard you might have by the time we're done? Or miss out on my winnings if you break down and shave? Couldn't possibly..”

“Tempting as it continues to be every day- even if I were to decide to match any descriptions given of me, I am not about to try shaving until on stable land,” he smiled briefly at the younger soldier who had become a friend through their time with the Inquisition. “And now I know to wait until the irritation is no longer balanced out by knowing you may be losing a wager you made.”

He did, however, feel entirely out of place whenever he looked in a mirror- though at least aboard the ship, for now, he was back to wearing clothing more to his own taste than the very _non-Imperium_ mage armor that had been given to him for when traveling on land. He suspected Dagna had rather tried to outdo herself making them, and his new staff- even though it looked almost more like something Solas would have found tasteful before the elf had mysteriously wandered off.

But wearing it felt rather like wearing someone else's skin, with all its appearance of being rough, worn, and the dull colors. Good for not getting attention, but terrible for his ego, and just a mildly distressing change in a world that already had more than enough seriously distressing events happening.

Krem was about to respond to that- but wound up grabbing some of the papers for Dorian as the latest tilt and drop of the ship made the mage freeze up, and his work actually skidded along the table.

“Maker, this is- worse than when I came south.”

“Dalish claims the storm will be past by dawn tomorrow- she's usually good at judging weather.”

Dorian groaned, as that was still any number of hours away, “Drunk and asleep may have been the better option rather than more of the potion earlier, then.”

“Bright side, Sparks-” some time ago the mercenaries had all taken to calling Dorian by a shorter version of Varric's nickname- “If you're still green when we get off at Wycome, no watchers are gonna recognize you.”

“Such a silver lining,” Dorian snorted, “I can't wait for all the pitying stares. Or to hear the messages and port gossip about how much worse things have gotten. But then, I suppose, what fun would the world just having stayed saved have been?”

“What's your money been on since Jader?”

“War with the Imperium- by Orlais and Nevarra, and those Marcher states, of course. Antiva's rulers will want a slice as well. No matter that it should be clear the Qunari are responsible, Tevinter is rich, and has always been the villain of fable. Unless someone's found real proof of where the Herald is, t's still easy for leaders to say they believe the Imperium was to blame- War with the Qunari can always happen _after_ they have finished conquering and looting _._ With a polite apology to the Inquisition for their having been tricked into doubting our claims.”

“So, Seheron for us. With both revolts and a major invasion on the mainland, troops withdraw, even citizens. It'll be open for the Qunari, and they'd be stupid to leave rifts open behind their lines as they march,” Krem looked almost satisfied, in a dark way, “Landfall will probably be be easier than Par Vollen if we get there before their forces are landing. Fuck, it's the perfect setup- if this was their plan the entire time, it's going great for them.”

Dorian nodded shortly- he almost envied how little Krem seemed concerned with what happened meanwhile in Tevinter itself- but even telling himself it was not _simply_ his personal desire to rescue Adaar, that the Herald _had_ to be found to keep the Inquisition's legitimacy in the eyes of many, to give back the stolen morale to those within it-

 _I wanted Tevinter to move forward, not to be divided up between other nations- but now it is up to Father and the others, whether or not they will negotiate with the actual Inquisition council instead of with me- I doubt Andraste herself returning could stop an invasion from happening- but if anyone can see to it there's limits on it, or somehow even maneuver the invasion into becoming other nations helping 'good Vints' rather than just destroying things completely, it's Ambassador Montilyet. And if we get Adaar back in time, and he's able to step in even a little- the Herald of Andraste returning_ again _when everyone thought him lost can be convincing. If he is in..bad shape- then it still is proof the invasion was not justified retaliation, plus a reason for the armies themselves to switch targets as to who is the worst enemy after all. The Divine, Empress Celene, and the Ferelden monarchs can all use that to better back the Inquisition once more and reign in their warhorses. As can anyone else in power and not as enthusiastic about bloodshed._

“Now you're looking both green and like Grim's long lost brother. New worries about the Inquisitor, or Tevinter?”

“Both,” Dorian admitted shortly, “Hardly new ones in either case. I can't help the Inquisition deal with anyone in Tevinter openly, or even be part of the background anymore, not with official messages royal allies politely asking the Inquisition if they are _certain_ that my loyalty isn't questionable without the Herald present- especially with those ideas not having completely died out even within our own ranks, and sprouting back up like weeds.”

“You ever wonder now if the Chief wasn't helping spread that shit about you for so long?”

“Not even for a minute,” Dorian's tone was dry, “Since I usually come up with a 'yes' in half that time,” he tried to not let the mention of Hissrad, and by the old familiar terms, bring up the mixed emotions. Anger was fine, he was quite happy being angry at the Ben-Hassrath, but the other feelings, of anxiety, guilt, and shame with himself for having been fooled so badly, those were distracting.

From the look on Krem's face, he was also upset by his slip, or understood at least how Dorian felt over the old, familiar title, “Ah fuck, I just-”

“Oh yes, _that_ 'just'- I'm familiar with it. Even I keep thinking about or calling him by the more familiar terms, despite how it's far less disturbing to use 'Hissrad' instead. Not the easiest change, when it was 'the Iron Bull' that had us convinced we knew him.”

“Years of him leading us, _training_ us, seeming to give a shit- and everything that happened in the Inquisition- Fuck, I still can't decide whether I can really hate him- or want to try and let the bastard off the hook, thinking he must have been forced somehow to do it- that no one could have just pretended that well for that long.”

Dorian and Krem hadn't yet really had anything like a private discussion about the Ben-Hassrath that both had had such personal feelings for- different feelings of course- but Dorian knew betrayals by fathers and father figures as much as he knew them from lovers. Oh yes, he knew what Krem meant- he wondered it too, sometimes. But he also had nightmares still, and the anxious thoughts even when awake, about what might be happening to Adaar. There should have been nothing more important, nothing that could have been held over an actual Iron Bull- there was no justification that Dorian could even _imagine_ for betraying the trust of someone like the Herald.

_After all, if it was to save the world, or even a nation, legitimately to save people or do good, he'd have volunteered to help, even to his death._

“It would certainly make me feel like less of an idiot for having fallen for him and all he'd said if that were shown to somehow be the case- and it has the wistful allure of perhaps a happier outcome right out of storybooks in the end. But short of blood magic, it is difficult to come up with something that could _force_ him, of all people, to do what he _has_ done. Both from the political view of helping shatter the peace rather worse than even Corypheus did, and the completely personal betrayal of Sethras- If he has any of his own mind or thoughts left at all, I cannot forgive him for even what we _know_ happened. Much less what may be done or have already been done to a Vashoth _spirit mage_ prisoner with useful information and abilities, but inconvenient amounts of stubborn willpower, and a streak of outright contrariness.”

He _needed_ to vent again to someone, but still, the thoughts crowding back in made it hard to breathe.

“Yeah- that's it, pretty much. And no, I can't forgive the asshole either, not about the way he played us- you, the 'Quisitor, the Chargers, the Inquisition- the line's a fucking long one. And we're _going_ to find Adaar, and get him out. Maybe it won't be too bad when we do, he might be too useful for them to have done the usual shit to, or anything else worse than keeping him under guard and getting him to rifts.”

“On the last part, you are far more optimistic than I am. Thank you. It helps that _someone_ can be,” and Dorian let the younger soldier keep him talking for a while longer- a mix of talking about the past- carefully, or sometimes in a kind of poisoned shock still how things had _seemed_ at the time- and their current intentions.

Their friendship had after all developed due to previous similar experiences and betrayals, and somehow it did feel more natural to continue that trend over their entirely new wounds, and ways they hoped to heal them through upcoming actions and decisions. 


	16. Damage Control

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hissrad has plans to make, as traveling Par Vollen does mean Adaar can’t be kept completely isolated and in the dark about what’s in store for him- and the Qunari army.

Hissrad listened to the talk around camp, and knew that Adaar was also paying close attention to everything said as well, although for the mage, it would be filtered by both exhaustion, and by his not being fluent in Qunlat. _Though he might know more than he remembered when not hearing it every day. And he's going to be picking more up, though likely not too fast._

He'd have preferred they had gone on til reaching a town or outpost, to better limit what Adaar heard. Though already the Herald may have suspecting there were military preparations beyond the ordinary, or what had been needed for dealing with rifts and demons- now he could hear some of the Sten who were off duty as they talked and ate nearby. Because of them, he now knew there was an invasion planned in the near future.

There wasn't anything Adaar could do about it, but now he'd still be trying to find out more- and while ordinary soldiers didn't yet know, might never know the details, and those who were high enough in rank to know _should_ know to keep their mouths shut in public- eventually Adaar might overhear enough to make him difficult when they reached the rifts that needed to be closed in or around military fortifications rather than fields, farms, and civilian communities..

As against demons as he was, there was a possibility he might resist closing a rift that didn't really endanger anything but troop movements, if he realized that was why it was important, or prefer that their barracks and forts be unusable, that the stores of military equipment be difficult to get to- for offensive plans, minor problems had a tendency to prove unexpectedly major.

Adaar might let himself be smarter than stubborn, and show common sense- or he might dare the Qunari to _make_ him close them- and that wasn't something his keeper wanted to have to do. They didn't have Pavus, or any other useful outside leverage, so- maybe best to start working on the possible problem early- otherwise, if time was short, he could need to use force.

Hissrad knew that eventually, Adaar was going to break, or be broken- and how Adaar's own lyrium would react to the Sarebaas restraints hadn't been something he could have really predicted before- but he'd seen enough to know they were going to be wearing the Vashoth down, and compensation had to be made to keep him fully functioning as long as possible.

 _Clear up here until the invasion, then- Seheron._ Fuck _that is going to be a mess- but this time it might be winnable. The invasion's been preparing for years, just waiting for the Vints to get distracted- and that shitty old magister popped right up and saved us Ben-Hassrath a lot of effort for trouble causing. Most civvies there will be more willing to just give in,we've the solution to the rifts, and the Vints will be gone or losing. Some Fog Warriors might even give up now, but even if they don't- fighting one army instead of two will put it all in our favor._

Taking and holding Seheron was still probably as far as they could go- unless things got really out of control elsewhere- since undoubtedly, they would come under attack. But they could hold both islands once they had them both- Qunari ships- and not just the dreadnaughts- would make retaliation against them too expensive.

Taking Seheron, one last push to stop the long slaughter. _That_ was the goal, for the Qun, and for Hissrad on a more personal level. Ending the fucking nightmares, ending the shiploads of broken soldiers. Ending the splintering minds going Tal-Vashoth, no more villages silent except for the sounds of flies and scavenging animals eating the bodies-

He'd go back to Seheron to end it, even though he never wanted to see those jungles again. He'd break Adaar to end it, make that shitty island secure- but exactly how broken Adaar could be before he stopped being able to close rifts, because they didn't have any way of knowing that- the mage had to last.

Tomorrow night, there would be a town, and privacy enough to talk to the mage. Even if he couldn't get Adaar to agree that the Qun _had_ to be able to take Seheron, finally sharing some information would help lower the hostility for a while again- and the right stories would make the mage at least uncertain about whether the Qun taking the island over would be _worse_ than other options, like war continuing another dozen or more years.

He had a twinge of regret- but didn't allow himself to dwell on it, there was enough else to think about.

Whatever it took, Hissrad knew he'd do it. The Tamas knew he'd do it too, and that was why he'd at least be able to keep Adaar with him until this final mission was over.


	17. Pushback

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More manipulation, there's truth, there's lies, but who the lies are meant for can be as hazy as what they are.

Two rifts, not just one, and even though Adaar hadn't had to do much- one use of the anchor to weaken the last stage of one, then closing both after the fighting was over, he still was a wreck. Hissrad took a risk, unbinding not just his hand, but his magic once they were in a secure room, and he'd helped the mage into a hot bath. Slightly unfocused and dilated green eyes stared at him in bafflement- and suspicion.

“Yeah, I remember some of your talks with Solas- we'll see if this helps your recovery- but you're not sleeping with it free. So let's talk”

“Nothing to talk about,” Adaar muttered, and Hissrad saw him trying to calculate his chances.

“Yeah, there is. You're listening to the Sten, the others- you're watching the numbers of them on the road that we pass. You wouldn't be Adaar if you didn't have questions.”

“But will Hissrad answer the fuckin' things, or be telling the truth if he does?”

“Well the first isn't going to be answered if you don't ask.”

“And I'll never know the second until it bites me on the ass somehow,” the mage actually growled it a little, “But fine. Who's being invaded?”

Hissrad took a breath, letting some of his actual feelings show- “Seheron.”

It took Adaar a bit to process it, in his state, “...And I'll be needed to close rifts. To minimize what comes out from the slaughter.”

“It's _been_ a slaughter. But yeah, we'll be there, and first you'll be closing a few more rifts here- still a couple of villages that need it- and three military outposts.”

Adaar sat up, and leaned towards Hissrad, flashing a bit of anger again, “And if I don't help with the Qun's takeover?”

“It'll be a bigger slaughter, and you know that. The locals can deal with us, have places to stay away from rifts, with you cooperating, and get peace. You think they'd do better under the Vints? Better without either of us, that's what you think- but you know that won't happen. It's either we end it by taking it, or by giving it to them.”

“And that's why I'm here by force, instead of being invited politely to help-”

“Yeah, pretty much. The stories I had from there were real, Adaar. It has to end- use that mage thinking you picked up in the Inquisition, how bad do you think the civilians trying to live there have it from the rifts?”

“You- you're just bringing that up to manipulate me-”

“Think that makes it untrue? Demons. Walking corpses- fuck, walking _trees_. And none of those taking sides, they'll kill anyone. The Vints use blood magic to make barriers around the rifts, those rumors got proven true- you like that better than closing them for us?”

Adaar made a frustrated sound, and Hissrad continued, to push at the mage in reasonable tones, now a challenge to keep most of his own feelings down where they _belonged_ in their locked compartments, taken out to be weapons, not weaknesses. “It's been planned since before Corypheus made his move, Adaar, the Breach, the Inquisition, those delayed things, changed shit, but didn't _stop_ it, and you can't stop it either. You can save a shitload of lives, though.”

“Shut. Up.”

Hissrad watched him, knowing Adaar- he _could_ see more signs that the Vashoth was recovering- though whether faster than he would have if restrained was hard to say- some of it might just be the energy he always seemed able to find in anger. In which case he'd drop again once it wore down.

“There's more to it-” the mage finally spoke again, after seething and thinking quietly, now he was trying to get up and out of the water, not _wanting_ help- even as unsteady as he still was, “Taking me..it wasn't just to clear rifts in the way. Most demons can't get too far from them now- and there's.. enough people still thinking I'm connected to Andraste you could risk starting another Exalted March- Shit's bad here, I can see that- there's not a lot of food, everything's worn down in villages- but how much isn't the rifts, but because the Qun's been growing an army, their supplies priority, for _years_ before our favorite Dumat worshiper interrupted? What could be fixed by reassigning soldiers as easily as me closing rifts?”

“Not going to be how it works, Adaar- any more than the Vints giving Seheron to the Qun-or us giving it to them. Leaves too many soldiers still without much to do- other than be shipped to Seheron be broken or killed _without anything changing,”_ Hissrad had risen to help Adaar anyway, but his control slipped now, and his grip on the Vashoth's shoulder and arm tightened. “Vints and Qunari'd be killing each other and Tal-Vashoth, and Fog Warriors killing all three. Just now, with _demons_. Someone has to _win_ for it to end.”

“And taking me changes the odds how? Tevinter will just send more troops and mages of their own once you do invade-” Adaar stopped, “The Qun wanted Dorian too- and not just to try keeping me cooperative. _Are people blaming Tevinter for my disappearance_?”

“Enough are, not as many as could be-but it's past revenge for a missing Herald. You're just a political excuse for something _everyone's_ wanted to do for a long fucking time. Think those who wanted Orlais to expand, or the Nevarrans _want_ anyone to find proof you weren't killed by the Imperium? Killed Andraste, now her Herald, just like old times.”

“ _Vashedan._ If he'd been there, he would have been set up as traitor to the Inquisition, you could have even gone back, lied further-”

“Original plan, got scrapped, and he's out of reach, staying in Skyhold,” he started moving, making Adaar keep up physically. Not rushing him so that it was painful, but still a distraction for him. Dorian wasn't a good subject to let the mage stay on long.

Adaar laughed bitterly, “Or _kept_ there?”

“Either way, he's _out of it_ , the Vints are shutting down garrisons, getting more soldiers back home to deal with the coming invasion, and the current riots by slaves and even Soporati. You cooperate, it changes the odds more than you think. Just keep closing rifts, stop demons from getting in people, or ripping 'em up.”

“Fuck you- you're trying to say my options are help the Qun conquer and convert, or just let demons and corpses pile up while they do it anyway-”

“Let me know if you think of a fourth option, Adaar.”

“There's a third? Wait, let me fucking guess- it's I refuse, and you get replaced as my Arvaarad, and they see if I can still close rifts as a tongueless Sarebaas, leashed to someone who doesn't bend rules,” without realizing it, the mage rubbed at his still-unbound anchor hand, undoubtedly thinking about how it felt after being tightly kept shut by lyrium chains for days without the relief of someone willing to let it be unchained in private- and now, Hissrad had even let him have his magic back for a little bit- however that must feel to a mage.

“Tongue's not all you'd lose,” Hissrad locked down the mage's power catching him as Adaar staggered and swore, ” _Don't push it_. Focus on stopping demons. That's all your job is.”

“And I'm nothing but the tool to do it. For your Qun, and you.” There was a slight edge to Adaar's voice, not anger this time, or even just bitterness. A doubt and fear that _had_ started to disappear from him since Adamant- but never went away entirely.

_Pushed for one fear, got too close to the other. Shit._

Agreeing, saying he was right, would make it easier to keep distance for both of them, let Adaar either flash back to anger or try to retreat into himself. Make it clear that this was just about what _had_ to happen. But for now, angry wasn't what he needed the mage to be for the job- what was easier or harder for the Ben-Hassrath himself to deal with shouldn't become the issue.

Saying Adaar was wrong, that he had personal reasons to keep him as safe- as whole- as he could, take things as slowly as allowed, that wasn't an option. It would be distracting, and encourage the mage to try pushing, to try and break his Keeper's resolve, and the bent and broken rules would get noticed sooner rather than later.

So Hissrad refused to answer that question directly, with truth or lie, wanting to deflect from the conversation entirely for both of them.

“Conversation's over. You need anything, Adaar?”


	18. Outside Expert

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric gets a response from some messages sent to an old friend and ally- one who at the least might have some useful information to share, if he can be convinced to reopen old wounds after so many years.

News of a little too much activity and touchiness from the Qunari fleets around Par Vollen made it clear at Wycome that to stay entirely at sea was unlikely to be the best of ideas. That the Felicisima Armada was also on edge furthered the plan to only go further north by ship and make landfall in Antiva, and go overland to the northern coast, where they would be able to hire or even commandeer a ship for the shorter voyage to Seheron. If the invasion occurred while they were still at sea- well, whether the Armada would side against Qunari again was up for grabs, as was whether or not they'd stick to deals made with them in terms of bribery, or allow 'accidents' to happen if they thought a target seemed interesting.

Antivan roads were always in good repair thanks to the merchant princes, and however hard they'd have to travel, through whatever weather, at least it was a reprieve from _waves_. Being tired and aching was far less of a distraction than seasickness for all plotting, planning, and study purposes for Dorian- unfortunately also less of a distraction from general thoughts and fretting about Adaar.

Traveling to do something about the situation was still inordinately better than sitting around Skyhold, but of course it took so _long_. But overland they also did get to encounter other travelers, and hear more and more confirmations that Tevinter was having to focus on internal matters and invasion threats on the mainland. All gossip and news that further unsettled Dorian as things he couldn't do anything about and helped make any nightmares even _more_ entertaining, in the 'not actually entertaining at all' sense.

_Blight it all, perhaps violence was inevitable and no change or progress would have ever come peacefully- but I had hopes the blood shed there might be less than ankle deep._

_Find Sethras, hopefully get him back to Skyhold, see what the Inquisition has managed by then- see if I can be useful by that time- if there is a Tevinter left. Though at least all the signs of military preparations we pass mean we are even less bothered or even noticed, merely another group of rough mercenaries, with whatever story Varric and Krem have to throw at the few officials who want to know who we are._

Although if they did get Adaar back, there was a certain charm to the idea of staying out of politics, even ones involving Tevinter, and just holding him close for a few years. And even if going back to trying to change the world in whatever small way, _never letting him out of sight ever again_.

“You've got your 'torn between love and homeland' face again, Sparkler.”

“Even as an author, _must_ you phrase it so dramatically? Also, incorrectly- feeling lingering guilt from years of family expectation and a love for a place regardless of it being flawed to the point of being considered something of a plague pit by the neighbors doesn't really equate to feeling _torn._ ”

“Hey, talking to a proud Kirkwall native here. Maybe not as much plague, definitely a lot of pit, even before before the big events of recent years.”

“Admittedly, even as a native, I would have always preferred the term 'plagued' over ' _pit'_ for Tevinter.”

There was a minor disturbance, as Krem, who had been out on his turn of sentry duty led someone into the camp and towards where Varric and Dorian were. On the way, Krem signaled to Skinner, who finished wolfing down her dinner and headed out to take his place on guard with a scowl. It was a stranger he was bringing in- but only really unknown if you hadn't been listening to Varric telling stories for a few years. White hair, two-handed sword, pale lines of lyrium on dark skin in the light of the camp's fires.

“Well I'll be a nug's uncle- you decided to show up after all,” the dwarf rose to go and greet him with a laugh and grpped hand for a moment.

“You were somewhat persistent, I began to feel sorry for your messengers,” the elf said drily, “I can't wait to hear what madness makes you want more details of my time in Seheron when everyone else is focused on mainland Tevinter or blaming Par Vollen, in the case of your Inquisition.”

“Oh, the usual kind, trying to root out conspiracies, maybe stop the Qunari from setting more cities on fire in the long run, rescue or avenge a friend, slow down some wars and lessen their damage if not stop them completely.”

“Your definition of 'usual' is worryingly familiar. You are really _certain_ it was the Qunari behind your Inquisitor's disappearance? Not those in the Imperium who quietly backed the ideas of the Venatori?”

“Oh yeah. We have a pretty convincing witness, and a lot of circumstantial evidence at this point- just not enough that's believable by your average, every day citizen or hungry military leader who _hasn't_ dealt with the weird shit on a regular and personal basis.”

“I'm not sure how much help what I remember will be.”

“Every bit of information helps at this point, Elf. Inquisition's a bit short on agents up there- and we're officially a rogue group going in on our own, so even less information. I know you hate talking about it, but you're the only person I know who's actually been around Fog Warriors, and we're hoping to NOT have to fight them along with the undead, demons, Tal-Vashoth, remaining Vints, and fresh waves of invading Qunari that we're gonna be wading through or sneaking around.”

“...Varric-”

“Think it over, Fenris, I wouldn't ask it of you if it wasn't important- we _need_ to at least find the Herald, see if we can either get him away from the Qunari, or at the least, get proof of what's going on before they've gotten too far. Meanwhile, I guess you've met Krem, he's mostly in charge of the fighting and sneaking. Dorian there is in charge of the magic and any related weirdness.”

“Pavus?”

The tone in the elf's voice made the mage sigh, “Indeed. The much gossiped about seducer of Heralds, main suspect as Inquisition traitor, son of a Tevinter Magister, and yes, as the rumors _should_ also note, usually well groomed and stunningly attractive. At least I hope they go on about that, I'd hate to find out my minor, yet uncomfortable, attempts at a disguise weren't even needed because no one has bothered describing me.”

Krem snorted, Varric chuckled, and Fenris' stare was a hard one, but then, not unexpected, considering Varric's tales of him, and certainly better as reactions went than actual insults or threats.

“And it is just.. those of you here, going to Seheron, without further support?”

“Politics, aren't they _fun_?” Dorian didn't quite manage to say it as cheerfully as he'd intended, some of the bitter irritation coming through.

“We're aware it will be something of a miracle to even be able to steal documents or other real, solid evidence, much less recover Adaar,” Varric lost at least some of the cheer he'd had, “We're not entirely delusional about our chances, Elf, but Maker's balls, even though the Inquisition's tied up by treaties and agreements only an Inquisitor can really negotiate changes to- there is no way anyone is willing to just replace him, without at least one try,” he regained a little bit more of the usual cheer, “And if you'd spent the last three years or so anywhere near him- Let's just say a dozen or so people getting him away from hundreds or thousands of Qunari in a jungle won't even be the most unbelievably weird thing that's happened. And that's even if you leave out the fade and Corypheus-related shit.”


	19. Catch Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fenris gets mostly caught up on the, uh, fun he's missed, and it's mostly a pleasant thing, to be talking to Varric again after so long.

Fenris hadn't been so isolated in past years that rumors and stories hadn't reached him, even before Varric had sent messages asking for him to try and catch up with him and 'some friends' so they could pick his brain about Seheron. But he let the dwarf keep him up late telling some of his own special versions of the big stories, and a few smaller ones to the side.

He really did _not_ want to talk about his past with strangers, not even just the two who along with Varric would clearly need the details- or three, since the blonde young man named Cole tended to lurk always by either Varric or Pavus. That the apparently former mercenaries had a Tevinter for a leader didn't bother Fenris, he'd seen and aided more than just actual slaves fleeing the Imperium in the last several years, and Krem's behavior and accent was that of someone born to the lowest classes and trained as a soldier.

Pavus, however, inevitably grated on his nerves, and roused old suspicions despite being vouched for by Varric and, though no one likely knew it, he'd also been mentioned in the one letter Fenris had received from Hawke, to warn him about Corypheus, in case the monster held a grudge.

Hawke had wanted Fenris to know that if Venatori hunted him, the Inquisition would help, also giving notice that there was a Tevinter mage that he'd have to put up with, one who was ' _a bit of a twit, but I think he's honestly_ trying _to be less of one- and not just because he's starry-eyed over the Herald. I think I could get to like him, myself, though I know that may not be much of a recommendation to you these days_ '.

Not exactly flattering, and the people Hawke liked didn't always sit perfectly with Fenris' feelings and beliefs. But last night he'd noticed the mage wasn't really reading his book, but instead just staring at it without turning pages while Varric tried summing up the history of the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste, until he'd finally silently gotten up and headed off, out of immediate earshot and sight, at least.

Now Fenris glanced to the dwarf traveling beside him, as he still debated exactly how much he would let Varric pull him into this situation. As much as he liked his friend, and as much as the idea of Qunari expansion was unsettling- talking about Seheron was one thing, actually going there if asked to was another. Considering the odds, he would almost prefer trying to talk Varric _out_ of going, not that the odds of that were higher.

“So what, or who, were you avoiding talking about at times last night? The ally who actually was a Qunari agent, I'm guessing?”

Varric shook his head, “Hissrad, called himself the Iron Bull at the time- and Andraste's tits, even I got suckered in- even if not in as personal way as others. Was a merc Captain as his cover- the kids here were his company, they loved him. He brought them into the Inquisition, left them out to dry when he stopped playing Vashoth, led the Herald into an ambush, and set Sparkler and Tevinter up as scapegoats. He's a touchy subject, some of the company are likely hoping as much for a chance to discuss things with him as get to the Herald.”

“Not you?”

“Elf, I'll be honest- I'd love a shot at him, so long as he's at extremely long range, and preferably with me on his blind side. I'd also just as soon never lay eyes on him again, or have Sparkler or the kids have to actually face him- they don't deserve that extra helping of regrets. I write about betrayals, been on both sides of them- you were there during some of the worst I'd ever seen. But Hissrad's slow con job with the Inquisition so he could help trigger more wars? The way he figured out how to prey on everyone's expectations, or feelings, and even fool a kid who accidentally reads minds on a regular basis? That gets into scary territory, even ignoring how good he is in an actual _fight_. Not the kind of guy it's safe to have any hesitations over when facing him.”

“Did you really just want my information, or were you planning to ask me to also come along?”

“The information mostly- from all we've gathered about how bad the demons and undead are probably over in Seheron, it's not a place I'd ask a friend to visit when they don't have their own personal reasons to. We need to know about the Fog Warriors, every little bit _does_ help.”

“Keeping a certain chatty dwarf in one piece could be considered a personal reason. There aren't so many people I think of as friends left that your wandering off to not be heard from again appeals.”

“...I'm flattered, Elf, but don't lock yourself into the idea on my account. Let's start with the information once Krem, Dorian, and Cole can get within earshot, or when we're stopping for a meal or the night. Oh, and I probably should give the head's up about Cole before he startles you.”

“...”

“You don't always handle surprises well, is all, Fenris, especially weird, magic flavored ones, and he's a good kid. Also we kind of need him in one piece.”

“If you're trying to dissuade me from remaining with your friends longer than it takes to share information, it's working already, Dwarf.”


	20. Distrust, Love, and Selfishness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dorian and the Inquisition party have landed on Seheron, and there's a rather prickly, testing conversation.
> 
> Chapter CW: References to abuse/drugging.

Seheron in the late afternoon was a little like trying to breathe through wet cloth, only getting better when rain actually did begin to fall. It was difficult to get used to, especially after so much time having been spent in the colder south and mountains. And the smell was so green as they cautiously moved inland- there was no other way to describe it. Green mixed with mud, unless something fouler was coming in from upwind.

“Other than the damp, the heat, the trees, and the trees, it does rather feel like the Exalted Plains all over again,” Dorian noted after another small group of shambling, half-rotted corpses had been dispatched, along with the Terror demon that had been prowling with them. And other than of course our distinct lack of Adaar. Let him not be something entirely missing from the equation for much longer.

Before they'd left the mainland, messages and news had reached them, and in a way, it had been good news for them. The Qun wasn't just looking to take Seheron, and their forces were going to be split- although the news that there was an actual invasion force that had hit northern Rivain had briefly shaken the party, since the Inquisitor could have been there- they may have called it wrong.

Somehow though, Cole had picked up something, not Adaar, but a tangle of connections, soldiers relieved that the rifts would be closed as they marched through Seheron, that the demons wouldn't be endless through the jungle, both behind and in front of them.

And for them, it meant perhaps less of an army to try and have to sabotage and sneak around, maybe more of an actual chance, although by the same token, it meant that whatever proof they had of the Inquisitor being held here, there was not going to be additional aid. Whether fools wanting bites out of the Imperium kept their attention split or did diplomatic back-tracking to keep the peace on that side, or even tried wrangling an alliance to deal with the armies of the Qun- no one, absolutely no one was going to care about Seheron. The Herald's rescue was not going to compete very well with trying to deal with Rivaini refugees or trying to stop the true Antaam.

Now Dorian merely had to try and stay optimistic that the natives fighting off the undead and about to also be dealing with a Qunari invasion force didn't jump to unfriendly conclusions when they found this little Inquisition group as well. Even with Varric, Dalish, and Fenris there was a chance they'd be mistaken for bandits or slavers trying to take advantage of all the turmoil.

Foolhardy ones, if so; there wasn't much profit margin for jackals considering the danger. They had already had to give one small village- what was left of it- a wide berth thanks to the rift on the edge of its square. Dorian had felt a surge of frustration, passing a rift and its demons by felt so completely unnatural. And he'd found himself wondering where any who'd lived there had found shelter, how many had gotten away when the thing tore open and spilled out its corrupted spirits, versus how many had died trying to flee or fight.

“If there is much of a resistance left, and they listen to why we are here, they may demand help closing those rifts in return for any aid freeing your Inquisitor,” Fenris was suddenly beside him, rather echoing his thoughts, and likely those of others in the group as well.

“We never intended to ask them for help without offering it in return. Including sending a message back for more agents, even Inquisition soldiers to find their way here to help against the Qun, and even yes, against Tevinter if they try to advance rather than keep withdrawing. The mainland Qunari invasion makes it even easier, no one can claim actions by us may cause a war that’s already begun before we’ve made a single public act. And as you have undoubtedly been told by others.” Dorian sighed and shook his head, “You do not know our Inquisitor. If they have not completely-”

And here was that fear in his chest again, making him choke over the possibility, but it was one he couldn't let himself forget, “-If the Qunari that are keeping him have not destroyed his mind and will in order to use him, if he is still Adaar, he very well may be the first to insist on closing as many rifts as possible without being recaptured. It's almost more of what he is, rather than merely being what he does.”

“You are more openly concerned than many of the others about the state he will be in,” Fenris noted, as if thinking of something or even considering a new judgment. He had had a few previous reactions about Adaar, learning things that everyone personally invested in this rescue had basically come to take in stride: that the Inquisitor had voluntarily experimented with lyrium tattoos and had practiced other blood magic. Although honesty was likely the best policy in the long run, in the shorter term it had almost led Fenris to storm off, dragging Varric along with him, though he’d slowly settled back into being a wary ally, and had even decided to come to the island after all. A wary ally, and still spikier to some than others. Aboard the ship there had been one irritable remark from Fenris about the blood magic having clearly been a part of a Vint's attraction to a Vashoth that had made Dorian take a few moments to seriously consider which spell might be best for hurling him off the ship.

Fenris and Dorian had avoided each other more carefully for a few days after that, and this volunteer conversation was a surprise, especially the tone of almost, what, sympathy in his voice? Apology?

But Dorian wasn't really in the mood for apology, if that was what it was, feeling snappish and rather sarcastic, “Well yes, I am a mage myself who was rather raised on tales of how they convert and treat Mages- propaganda to a degree, but they hardly deny cutting out tongues, along with other amusing 'safety' tactics. And he's only an impossibly stubborn Vashoth mage. Proof that the Qun isn't needed for someone of their race to live well, to even be a hero and work for a society as a whole. Who also by their narratives of magic and Fade spirits is almost every danger, every crime and sin to warn children about, wrapped up in a tidy, tattooed package. Varric has mentioned you know quite a bit about the Qunari, even their language, so how well do you think he will be treated?”

Fenris had raised a brow over the rather heated declaration of Adaar's heroic qualities, but not dismissed them- he had heard stories of the Inquisition, and what they had done even while he'd been entertaining himself against Venatori and regular slavers elsewhere. And Fenris hardly had to think long about the question, “Not kindly nor politely, no. And the others are likely aware, they simply do not let themselves think about it so often.”

“What a lovely power that would be to have. Unfortunately, much as I try to be my usual, sunny, optimistic, well-bred Vint self, knowing that the world will surely bow to my whims eventually, sometimes I just can't help being slightly worried that it won't.” Somehow though, he was feeling better having someone to not tiptoe around, since he hardly wanted to send others into the same state of gloom when he fell into it. He knew why they cut it out of their minds, and he did manage it for a time, until something or someone just brought it to the surface like a noxious bubble in a mire. A little after the burst, and the air was clear again- unlike when it happened less metaphorically.

Fenris had a slight twitch to a corner of his mouth, and Dorian wondered if the elf had meant to let him vent on him. If so, then perhaps he could try and read apology into it.

“I prefer the less well-bred 'Vints, generally speaking,” Fenris said dryly, “But not when it means you are that despairing. But I was wondering, are you worried about him for his sake, or yours?”

Or any apologetic tones heard must have purely been imagination, since that question hit rather low and hard. “There has to be an 'or' in there does there? Is 'both' still too selfish an answer? When it comes to him I am remarkably selfish,” and he felt that bile in his throat for a moment, which made him add, “Now I am, at least, and I rather wish I had been before. He is out there somewhere, very likely in pain, and if you think so little of me that you think that doesn't disturb me, in and of itself, then so be it. And yes, for my own sake I want him back, not a mindless Viddath-bas, not someone new and broken, who doesn't know me, or trust me, or someone that I cannot help- where I wouldn't even begin to know how. They don't really teach how to care for someone in Evil Tevinter Mage School, it's undoubtedly why my healing spells are not even as good as Adaar's. As to what to do with no magic at all, of course there I am even more at a loss.” It won't be simple nightmares of things that happened ten or more years ago and he's already mostly come to terms with, it will take far more than ways to see him through sleepless nights. Kaffas, that some of what I did learn in part even was due to Bull- to Hissrad- what of that will work anymore, really worked to begin with.

Fenris scowled, but what came out of his mouth was, “I apologize,” and Dorian was surprised enough he had no retort, though he certainly didn't automatically feel any desire to accept it, especially since his hand had half reached for the hilt of his sword.

“And you clearly failed out of 'Evil Tevinter Mage School,'” the elf went on dryly, though there was a new tone in his voice. “Try to not get so distracted by less optimistic thoughts that you put yourself at too much risk, mage. What help you can give is certainly better than your not being there at all should we get out of this alive, and then free your Adaar.”

There was movement from the others in the party, everyone coming out of their resting modes and positions, as it became clear there was an odd fog that had formed on all sides in the jungle around their clearing.

“The good news,” Fenris said quietly, “Is that fog in the distance is at least a warning, rather than it being right on top of us as immediate attack.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey folks, SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG. Seriously, it feels so good to get another chapter out!
> 
> I do want to ask a favor though, of any readers who feel up to it- we've got serious family medical bills here, not to where I'm having to do a crowdfund/donations drive in flat panic, but [I have reopened an Etsy store](https://www.etsy.com/shop/Bakafox), and I'm slowly adding art to it. (Including some Dragon Age related art, including hopefully soon the original drawings you may have seen as illustrations for this story and _Basra_.)
> 
> If you could stop by to see if there's anything you like now and then and/or signal boost it for me around the parts of the internet you lurk on, I'd super appreciate that!


	21. As If Possessed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sethras is on his way to Seheron with Hissrad- and of course hundreds, maybe even a thousand or more Qunari soldiers and Saarebas.
> 
> He's trying very hard to keep himself together, but unfortunately, he just can't seem to win against Hissrad for even a moment.
> 
>  **Chapter CW:** references to sexual acts, drugging, referenced addiction, emotional abuse/torture, nightmares, memory/time loss

Sethras woke, but even from the tangled unpleasantness of his nightmares, he was just too tired to jolt upright, and he didn't want to wind up fully awake. If he was still half asleep he could try to silently grab at the parts of the dream that _hadn't_ been shitty. Memories of things he'd accomplished, friendships and loves that hadn't betrayed him. _Dorian._ Dorian was certainly the most important part; he just had to cut out every knotted line of subconscious where Hissrad-- or things even worse than him-- had taken over. Forget the part where Dorian had _died_ in the dreams, at Hissrad's hand, trying to reach him. Maybe rearrange it to where Dorian killed Hissrad instead.

Even if falling back asleep was a lost cause, Sethras didn't want his Arvaarad to know he was awake. He could still feel Hissrad's touches, and taste his skin and sweat, but Sethras had a hard time remembering if they really had fucked again so recently, or if that had just been more of the dreams as well.The taste was definitely his imagination. His mouth never touched Hissrad- even if the heavy collar wasn't sized to make anything like that difficult, that was something he didn't want to do, not even when desperate for something other than pain, or wanting exhaustion that wasn't from drugs.

The least his imagination could have done was let him remember Dorian's taste instead, though the sound of the ship creaking and movement of it over the waves would have quickly soured it anyway.

It wasn't much better than the tiny cabin he'd been chained in on the way to Par Vollen, other than the only Qunari in it was Hissrad, (if that was an improvement) and he wasn't quite as thoroughly chained. His keeper was still letting him have his hand unrestrained for parts of any given day where it seemed they'd have privacy, though that was hardly enough to prevent his fingers and even wrist from aching, the pain sometimes flowing down to his elbow, although it was often lost in the shuddering ache of all the lyrium under his skin after that.

The lyrium involved in the collar was _calling_ to what was in his body, or at least that was the best explanation he had. He couldn't remember if particular things made it worse, or if it was some randomly fluctuating problem. He was losing track of a lot of minor little things like that, but really, they were unimportant in the long run. There were more important things to remember, and to focus on. Truly waking up meant going back to watching and listening for any chance at all to attempt an escape, or even just cause trouble. He _had_ finally remembered that he'd been a decent saboteur, if he got any moment with eyes not fixed on him to put old tricks to use. Fuck the Qun, and their plans-

“Wake up if you want food to actually be warm, Adaar, though I can see warm dreams of Dorian as more appealing- though sounded like they weren't all pleasant.”

_Fuck Hissrad._

The Qunari acting as his Arvaarad had been changing, Sethras was fairly certain. Some of what he said and did _feeling_ more like lashing out or withdrawing rather than serving some planned purpose. Not often. But since they boarded the ship, he was fairly sure- since they'd been actually crossing the water to Seheron--, Hissrad was pushing at him more, deliberately or not.

Too angry to go back to sleep, he sat up, rather like he expected Hissrad had intended this time, but he tried to keep his expression impassive. Sitting up made everything hurt again; or at least, momentarily made it more than ignorable background noise. he took a breath, grabbing the offered tray of food without more than a glance at his keeper- and nearly dropped it, because his hands were shaking so badly.

“So how much longer are we going to pretend I don't know you've been dumping painkillers instead of taking them, Adaar?”

“How much longer am I expected to be allowed to live?” it really was pointless rebellion. he knew he'd take them once the pain got to a certain point, was fairly sure Hissrad guessed too; but maybe he could turn it into something, pretend he was in more pain or withdrawal than he was. It wouldn't need much exaggeration.

Seheron, a place with thick jungles, not yet totally pacified or as densely inhabited as Par Vollen-- it might be worth trying to get away there. He might not succeed, considering who was watching him, and the shape he was in, but at some point, he'd _try_. Being attacked when alone and near helpless by a swarm of demons or undead at least meant it wasn't the Qun that finished him off when useless to them.

“Forget it, Adaar, whatever you're thinking.”

In spite of himself he flinched, then snarled a curse, “Leave me a few pleasant thoughts, Hissrad. I'm on borrowed time when it comes to the ability to think at all.”

There was a pronounced silence, rather than any easy retort, and he wondered if he'd managed to score some sort of hit on the other man with that comment. It stretched into a far longer one as Sethras ate. Rather messily, because of the shaking, but he was not going to let Hissrad help. It was bad enough he needed help sometimes walking if the sea was a little rough, unable to adjust his balance for it. not that he'd yet left this little cabin at all.

He was already feeling tired again, the anger gone. He looked idly at his still unbound hand, the anchor on it, flexing his scarred and tattooed fingers, watching the green flickering play along the lines he'd decorated himself with. Or just inflicted on himself, some of the oldest scars on his hands not really _planned out_. Pity, with the collar on, not even blood magic worked. But how much damage could the anchor do to the ship if he could _concentrate_ on it?

Was he really so invested in the idea that the rifts were open and people were being killed by demons that he'd just keep going along with this? _What could the Inquisition be doing right now? Did the collar stop Cole from hearing him, too? Or could they locate him somehow? would they have time to try?_

Somewhere in this thinking, he realized slowly, Hissrad had come close again. he'd leaned in towards the Qunari, who had fingers against his face, _touching him_. Sethras jerked away sharply, and was allowed to. Hissrad drawing back as well, though in such a reactionary way. The look on his face was too much like the blank one in that nightmare, which of _course_ unlike the day of the week or other little things, Sethras could remember too vividly now.

“Did I talk in my sleep enough to get why the dream was so unpleasant? You killed him, knife to the heart- to keep it secret that he and others had tried to come for me. Calm as only Hissrad can be, although in the dream you _sounded_ like you regretted it. And you kissed him while doing it, as he died.”

Hissrad didn't say anything for a moment, then shook his head, “It’s your subconscious, Adaar, not mine.”

“No hard regrets or nightmares of your own now? No serious feelings, ever, about him? Or me? Always just _lies_?”

“Forget that question.”

“Always just the mission?” the vashoth mage sounded bitter, wanting to disbelieve.

“Yeah, it was fun, but always just the job, Adaar, so _forget that question_.” Hissrad finally replied, after a few more moments remembering the smell of burned flesh and wet jungle, and the changing faces as soldiers fell and were replaced-

“Fuck, I don't even know if I want you to be lying or not- But it's Seheron, always, either way,, isn't it, Hissrad? It’s not really the Qun. You _never_ got out of there- whatever they tell you will end it, you'll do it. You'd sacrifice everything to feel like you're done with the place-”

“You're shit at forgetting things if there's no demons involved.”

“And you're an asshole, a traitor, but no abomination. Don't worry about the demons on Seheron, as Hissrad _or_ the Iron Bull. There's no _room_ inside you, because you've always been possessed by an entire island's war. This whole fucking time.”

There was a pause, one that reminded Sethras of when his magic was free, and he could flicker like lightning, the world around him seeming slowed, getting in and out of focus strangely. A twitch under Hissrad's skin, a shifting of his shoulders. A narrowing eye.

 _I actually fucking hit him with that._ The mage braced himself, wondering what was going to be the result. Half hoping to be grabbed or even hit, pinned; something physical that would further shift the Qunari out of ever being thought of as _Bull_ and kill memories that needed killing. Or words would work, provided Hissrad used angry ones perhaps, instead of words that just pulled at Sethras like puppet strings as much as he tried to shield himself and not let the bastard into his head further.

And he hated how afraid he was of whatever the reaction might be, as well. All Sethras had to use as a weapon was the anchor, and he knew how much it would _hurt_ with his magic locked down. And that using it would mean, if he survived, punishment from the Qun.

But instead of any lashing out, after that long moment, all Hissrad had to give back was a flat, and short, “We'll be reaching land today, probably within the next two hours,” before he gathered up the tray and left the cabin, its heavy door just closing firmly behind him.

Sethras stared, and wondered then if he'd hit anything at all, or if he'd just misread Hissrad. If there was any way he could ever _win_ any game against his situation, take anything from it, or change anything about it short of just giving up and refusing to close the rifts, let them turn him mindless, or kill him. How weak _was_ he, and how untouchable was Hissrad by comparison?

The mage had the wrenching argument with himself again. was he just trying to find a good moment, or was he a broken coward already, just lying to himself?  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sethras' dream is very much the second chapter of [Last Kiss](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4279170/chapters/9691968) because I'm a terrible human being.


	22. The Snapping of Chains

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hissrad is perhaps not as in control as Adaar or even he himself believes.

Hissrad closed the door quietly and concentrated for a moment on breathing. He wondered if there were ways that his conversations with Seth... with _Adaar,_ were being monitored somehow. He knew that they were watched closely, _would_ be watched closely in public now. There were doubts _he_ would last long in Seheron without going Tal-Vashoth for real.

If anyone had just now been listening in, he could be in trouble. Because Adaar's accusation that it wasn't loyalty to the Qun, but instead a private vendetta could be seen as plausible, as untrue as it was. And as more of a signal that he should be replaced.

He knew there were Arvaarads along who didn't have Saarebas. To take over if he fell, because of course Adaar would not simply be killed if they were separated, not until he'd been used up. Also the moment Adaar seemed not under his control in the field, the next would step in to take over, And he would be reassigned. Most likely reeducated first, which Hissrad knew that he needed. He should have already turned himself in, from the moment they were on Lake Calenhad. From the moment he'd actually _not_ thrown the dragon tooth necklaces immediately into the deep water.

He'd done it eventually, of course. On the way to Par Vollen. And he'd resolutely locked up the Iron Bull persona and put it back in its proper compartment within his mind. Hissrad had spied on the Inquisition, and it _had_ been him who suggested through reports that instead of assassinating the Inquisitor, if there were rifts in Par Vollen or Seheron, he should be _used_ first.

He'd made the suggestions very carefully, of course, hints, hoping someone of the proper rank and knowledge would be the one to officially 'come up' with the idea. Because simply killing someone with that power, while demons were still shitting everything up- too much waste. And he'd guessed early on that Seheron must be worse than ever before, the moment he learned what formed the rifts. By Crestwood he'd felt old nightmares again, remembering the soldiers, scouts, and civilians he'd watched go time and time again from normal to _shattered_.

The Antaam, the Qun, would never give up the idea of claiming all of Seheron. They were fucking stubborn. But everyone would just wind up demon food, unless the demons were _stopped._ And he had the person who could do it by then, or rather the Iron Bull had had him.

 _More fragile than anyone thought._ He'd known enough about what Ben-Hassrath did and yet Adaar had believed the Iron Bull's wavering stance, his comments about the Qun invasion being something to avoid. He'd believed Bull had respected him, and to a degree, Hissrad even had. But he also thought Bull came, like the Vint, to full peace with his being a blood mage.

An Iron Bull could, for a Kadan. For an Inquisitor. For someone so careful about deciding what their rules and path would be, but not Hissrad. He knew that Adaar needed to be reined in. The Avvar's reaction to him in the Frostback Basin had just further underlined the danger. It was even for Adaar's own _good_.

 _And why do you care about that, Hissrad? He's the Qun's tool now. Your original plan was to let some Arvaarad take over, and to let yourself be fixed. Fixed from what, if you're so fucking loyal? You then decided to make sure he_ hated _you first. Why would his hate be important?_

 _You_ know _why. Does he hate you enough yet? You know every trick that would make him hate you so much that he would try to kill you even if completely bound and muzzled. They'd see the threat you believe he is, that fragility, that gaatlok waiting to go off, and take his tongue and mind. He'd be no threat anymore. Chances are good the mark would still work directed by another Saarebas or even Bas Saarebas that is properly dedicated. Magic channeled through him by another, he could just stand there, drooling and staring. And you wouldn’t even be there to watch what you’d caused._

 _They could have given him the peace you think he'll receive from the death of his mind immediately. Why have you let him suffer when he deserved at the least respect for what he tried and accomplished, misguided and_ Bas _as it was?_

 _You don't want to be re-educated or reassigned. You want to die as soon as he does, but not that death of the mind, not after the Tranquil that the Iron Bull saw. That_ you _saw._

 _Fuck, I know what I’ve seen, and I want_ to _see an end to Seheron. Then, sure, maybe I want him to kill me. The last fucking deaths, or close to it. The Vints gone, the Qun can hold it once there’s no demons. No more orphanages buzzing with flies._

 _So now you admit, it has nothing really to do with the_ Qun _. But with your obsession. What can you admit about your other feelings, Hissrad- or the Iron Bull?_

There was something, like a growl either from him or within his thoughts, and Hissrad shook himself awake from the doze he'd fallen into. He shoved the unnecessary thoughts and voices into their compartments, and straightened.

He was just getting worn down, from the nightmares that were starting to come when he tried to sleep. Memories of Seheron, getting stronger and more intrusive than the sometimes memories of having been Iron Bull, nightmares of blood and poison, sometimes with some sort of demon stalking through the streets and fog. A wolflike shadow that was gone as soon as he realized it was even there, sometimes having been right behind him.

But still, the wolf was nothing compared to the nightmares made simply of memory, and Hissrad had decided what his mission was for the _Qun_ not just himself.

Restless, he went above decks, below felt cramped and stuffy. Perhaps he should have brought Adaar up as well, but- no. Let him be alone a time. Let him doubt, and wonder what Hissrad was doing, even if the only thing the Qunari was doing was staring at the smudge of land that they were drawing closer to.

When they were close enough, he went back down to the cabin, and began to make Sethras get ready, trying to judge how much of the lack of cooperation was rebellion and how much was a fresh wave of depression. Or both. It wasn’t that the mage fought him, the mage simply was barely responsive to anything but a physical touch, which Hissrad wanted to _avoid_.

He muzzled and masked Adaar, for the sake of those who’d be watching for signs of too much leniency, and the knotting of rope, clipping of chains from the massive collar to the mage robes was done in silence. Finished only a little before the knock and order to prepare to disembark.

Even smelling the wet, familiar smells of Seheron froze something inside Hissrad, his eye dark and cold when he led the Bas Saarebas down the gangplanks to the invasion camp. 


	23. Wolves in the Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Checking back in on Varric, Dorian, and the others in a short chapter.
> 
> (As I try and get my writing hat back on after being away a while.)

They were alive because they were Inquisition, at least, or mostly because of that, Varric figured. A little too because of Fenris, and what he’d been up to in the last years. Maybe he hadn’t been here in Seheron, but word carried about someone who had once betrayed hospitality and slaughtered, but had again been fighting Tevinter, fighting slavers. He’d been recognized, as had the bits of Inquisition badge, though here, in this forsaken pit that made the Fallow Mire a place of nostalgia, it had made the mix of humans and elves, heavily armed, too thin, and desperate looking, ask what they were there for and listen.

Mostly elves, and it probably didn’t hurt that Dorian still was rough looking with travel rather than showing his noble heritage much, and he’d let Varric do a lot of the talking, which was fine by him and what he was here for. Not many ‘Vint nobles would stand back and have some dwarf take charge, or some clearly common mercs. And rumors of the Inquisition had reached here.

“So, your Inquisitor, he really could close up the veil holes? Stop the demons coming through- and the Qun, they kidnapped him, and brought him here? To do it around their forts and villages?”  
The leader of the band of Fog Warriors, a battle scarred, sharp-edged looking elf with short dreadlocks and dark skin, armed with enough blades to supply a shop stall along with a bow, scowled, and it was the look of someone who’d heard things before this little meeting, and is finding verification.

“That’s our best guess. It’d make sense, wouldn’t it? Give them a break from all the demons and things- Inquisitor Adaar would close every rift in the world if he was free and able to travel freely and do it, but they’ll make sure only people who sign on with them, only their important areas, get the treatment. We’ve still got mages trying to find ways to close things without him, but right now, he is the only way. And- look, more than that, he’s someone we want to find because he’s a friend, and too good a man to get used like that.”

“I won’t say we wouldn’t like some help, information on where things are and what’s going on, more if anyone feels like pitching in, but even just the ability to be on our way, that’d be worth what supplies we have, and can continue to try ferrying over. We’re not actually here officially as the Inquisition, we’re here as friends and companions of the Herald, but we have access to a few lines of supply, and whether unofficially or officially, we’re not with either the Qun or Tevinter, which defaults us as being with everyone else currently being trampled over in their war. Can’t promise aid in officially freeing the country from either or both, but we can help with arms, maybe some food and other supplies- and if Adaar can get away in one piece from the Qun, can promise that we’ll do our damnedest to help close all the rifts we can get to without risking him too much- I mean, if he dies, there just isn’t anything to be done yet, though I will say, if the folks back at Inquisition headquarters figure out a way to close the rifts without using Adaar himself, we’ll be spreading the information to everyone, everywhere.”

The Fog Warrior made a mirthless sort of sound, “Surprised the Qun and Tevinter haven’t kidnapped all those people you’ve got researching, and burned your place down already. Who wants the power to fix what’s been broken shared to everyone?”

“Only smart, sane people, able to look at the long range, big picture,” Dorian put in drily, breaking a long silence on his part, “So not many who are technically in charge of terribly large nations, it’s true.”

It earned more of an actual laugh, and did make it easier for Varric to smooth things along further, until finally there was some conferral, and they were invited along to a secure enough camp for dinner and proper information sharing, although, as the spokeswarrior, still nameless to the Inquisition put it, “You’ll be mostly providing the dinner, while we provide the safe-ish camp, since you did speak of having lines on supplies and there’s barely a field left on the island’s plantations or farms without undead or demons anymore.”

Which also meant being under guard as much as being guests, but all things considered, it could be worth it, if they really could be talked into sharing some intelligence on what the Qun was up to, and Dorian already felt like he wanted to... well, he wasn't sure really. He just had that feeling again of time slipping away, of something needing to be done, or maybe something that they just had been missing somehow, like the dream the night before where-

Dorian swore under his breath, hating the reminder about that dream. Had he and Adaar been _tracking_ wolves, or was it the two of them being tracked down and hunted? A memory of that pack early into the Inquisition that had been possessed, perhaps, twisted into just that need to find his Inquisitor. His _lover_ , who probably wouldn't be up to closing any rifts any time soon if they even could get him free, but who they had to promise the services of as the one thrice-blighted thing that they could offer that no one else could, something that anyone smart would have to be willing to put some bets behind.

But all he _wanted_ to think about doing, if they somehow could find Adaar and win him back, whether by force of political dealings or guile, was take him somewhere they'd already cleaned out that also was as remote and hard to get at as possible. Let the man rest, keep him safe and let him heal and just enjoy all the gardening and terrible puns he desired to perpetrate.


	24. Viddasala's Writ

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A short 'welcome back' check-in on Hissrad and Adaar.

Hissrad had certainly anticipated some of what the new/reinforced orders were, that had awaited him when they’d landed. He’d seen to it Adaar had not used magic- well, noticeably- and had _only_ closed rifts and suppressed demons with that mark. Which _he_ noticed was acting unusually, starting to seem like it was reacting worse and worse to the gauntlet, to being suppressed, which he was including in the report he was sending in.

 

He _still was_ disobeying orders, by letting the gauntlet come off whenever he was sure enough there were no watchers, because of this- and it didn’t really seem like it would be a danger. Only a few days into Seheron, of hard rides and rift-closing, and Adaar was growing more and more listless, and only snapping out of that because of the pain he was in after closing anything.

 

He’d been slow enough to react to the latest one, that Hissrad had been the one to reach and lift that hand and growl a sharp _order_ for him to do it.

 

In some ways, Adaar seemed to be relieved of some pain after a closing, and Hissrad had some guesses about that. The mark was _made_ to anchor such power, using it drained it of energy, kept it from overloading Adaar. Not using it, locking it away, then it was all turning inward on the man who had it.

_We’re using him up, he will die, but he’d die even quicker if we didn’t have him closing as many rifts as possible before he dropped_.

 

Hissrad ignored the question of whether or not the quicker death would be the more merciful thing. This was to _end_ the fighting in Seheron, and quiet all the screaming, now-often-shambling, dead. One vashoth life for the good of the Qun, not just the current Qun, but the future one, full of  all those who’d join it and not be in a constant state of war, famine, slaver raid.

 

No more poisoned wells or rice stores.

 

Viddasala was now to be _directly_ contacted by him, and the old Iron Bull bits of his mind, if he let himself think like that old mercenary, that Tal-Vashoth, he’d be nervous about this. Hissrad maybe was _uneasy_ about it, himself, though for different reasons. Much more valid and immediate reasons, and underlying ones, like why she actually had taken so _long_ to show personal interest in Adaar. She had been more distant in Par Vollen, which had been the only reason Hissrad had gotten away with doing things _his_ way, distracted by other irons she had in the fires.

 

If Adaar lived long enough, she _would_ silence him more permanently, and take all the steps _he_ has avoided to break or fully convert the Herald. But for now, she just was sending reminders of how he was supposed to treat Adaar, and notes to watch out for signs that the agents of Fen’Harel were even here on Seheron, as she felt they’d have their own interests in assassinating or even trying to take the Inquisitor.

 

Not that their having people here was a shock, they were elven, pro-magic, and anti-Qun, anti-Chantry, anti-Imperium. There was the map of old elven sites, ruins, that even though rifts were in them, Adaar was _not_ to be taken to, in case something in his mark or in his magic reacted to anything that hadn’t been properly cleansed out of them. It was good that back in the day, Adaar had confided to the Iron Bull that it had been elven magic, corrupted by Corypheus.  And while he wasn’t being told anything, it all made Hissrad have new suspicions about Solas, wherever the fuck he was. Probably an agent, to have waltzed on into Haven as a mage and talked his way to trusted despite being a mage and elf.

 

As Hissrad finished rereading the latest round of messages, Adaar _growled_ in his sleep, and thrashed on his bunk, seeming more active and alive when sleeping than when awake. He muttered something, it sounded like he was swearing at some memory of Solas, and for a moment, Hissrad paused to listen, but it turned into a random rehashing of previous nightmares and odd dreams, the words disjointed.

 

And the collar was on, even if the gauntlet was off, leaving that mark to blaze angrily, flickering and pulsing along his arm, well past his elbow, not unlike gangrene in the veins, but instead of following veins, following all those tattoos of rose vines and other shapes, and even more bright in the scarification. The lyrium in his other tattoos blazed angrily now, whenever the collar was suppressing him.

 

With it on, whatever nightmares Adaar might have, they were at least _safe_ ones, no demons or fire or other things were going to be summoned up. No meddling, suspiciously strong rift mage apostates were going to be  _talking_ to him, and Cole wouldn't be finding him.

 

***

 

Adaar was still sleeping, and Hissrad had been about to wake him to make him eat something, when new messages arrived, and he’d had to hastily put the gauntlet back on, swearing he’d felt something like a cold _shock_ when doing so, and smelling a sudden burn of lyrium in the air. But he had to leave Adaar with someone else watching him for a bit- because now it seemed clear the Inquisition _knew_ and likely would send someone here, so plans needed to be made.

 

“He’s drugged,” Hissrad lied to the incoming spare _Arvarad_ , “Don’t bother waking him up. I’ll take care of him when I’m back.”

 

Seeing someone _else_ guarding him would probably panic Adaar, and while he’s mostly been _silent_ of late, if he did start asking questions, or reacting, the chances were good it’d be done in ways that could lead to _questions_ , and Hissrad didn’t want to be taken off this job and sent for reprogramming, not until he’d seen it _through_.

 

As to the Inquisition, well, he knew who’d want to come, and who’d likely be _able_ to do it without being pinned down by politics.

 

Though one could hope that Pavus wouldn’t be so foolish. Capturing him now wouldn’t really help, so he’d need to be killed, and without Adaar finding out.


End file.
